


How to Be a Heartbreaker

by LittleLostStar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (but like just a tiny little bit and it can be skipped), Anal Fingering, Blood Play, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Cock Warming, Come Eating, Complete, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Dominant Ben Solo, F/M, Face-Fucking, Kitchen Sex, Knife Play, Masturbation, Mind the Tags, Murder, Period Typical Misogyny, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Punishment, Reylo Smutember 2020, Shower Sex, Spanking, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, a lot of praise kink, also allusions to previous sexual discomfort and shame, brief mention of prior domestic abuse but no details, just a jenga tower of kinks reaching to the sky, just enough boundary-pushing that i'm gonna throw in a mild dubcon warning, mention of infertility, no i don't know how it happened either, the tiniest bit of financial domination if you squint, this accidentally became a Mad Men crossover, this is the story of two queer people who have Just About Fucking Had It with the straights, those boundaries are immediately respected as soon as they are raised though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26557009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLostStar/pseuds/LittleLostStar
Summary: Rey is a black widow. Ben is her new husband. Things aren't quite going to plan.~Being the perfect trophy wife is hard work; it’s a lot of long hours, cramped shoulders, and burns from the oven. There’s nothing wrong with any of it, of course; in fact, Rey relishes in the ability to control her environment so precisely. She wants nothing more than to be kept safe and secure, and she’s happy to provide for the man who puts a ring on her finger and vows to cherish her until death do them part. It’s not her fault that the men can’t ever seem to hold up their end of the bargain.~Now complete.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 419
Kudos: 600
Collections: Reylo Smutember 2020





	1. Prologue: The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> So someday this is going to be a full novel with tension building and subplots and everything in between the smutty bits, but then I committed to a deadline, so here are all the smutty bits with just enough plot to attempt to justify the truly ludicrous amount of pornography that's happening. 
> 
> Please, please mind the tags. I will also include warnings of triggering things in the end notes of relevant chapters, and provide guides on which paragraphs can be skipped; no smut in this prologue or the first chapter, but after that it's all sin upon sin upon sin.  
> I love all your faces. Now go, here's a dollar, have fun ;-)
> 
> Please feel free to tag me on twitter or use #ReyloHeartbreaker if you want to spread the word of the Sabbath of Sin!
> 
> ~  
> Based on [this prompt](https://twitter.com/someonesbh/status/1292529682890579968)! And many thanks to Elle and Aurora for putting together Smutember 2020! 
> 
> I owe a massive debt of gratitude and love to [Mel](https://twitter.com/somewhere_reylo) for being a truly incredible beta editor. She swooped in to help with some poker terminology and has been cheering me on ever since!

Ben Solo’s wedding is magical. A happily ever after, in the truest sense.

The church is filled with everyone the Solos have ever called family, friend, or even acquaintance. When Rey makes her grand entrance on the arm of her future father-in-law, she sees eyes shimmering with unshed tears on both sides of the aisle. Ben stands at the altar like a nervous horse, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the organ reverberates through the room. He stops when he sees her, utterly transfixed, and Rey beams at him; when she joins him at the altar, he bites back a shy smile that makes him look boyishly lovestruck, and his hands tremble when he lifts her veil.

Rey has said her wedding vows so many times that she’s long since memorized them; she will concede that they sound more beautiful in the church, where her voice reaches high into the rafters and sounds rich and lush and holy. Ben’s eyes shine brighter and brighter with every word she says, and when he opens his mouth for his portion of the ceremony, his voice is thick with desperately unshed tears. The rings are plain gold bands, perfectly matched, with a small indent in Rey’s to accommodate the flawless round-cut diamond on her engagement ring.

The reception is held in a lavish ballroom at the hotel nearby; dinner is rich and delicious, and the cake five tiers of chocolate decadence. Between copious bottles of wine, the guests give speeches that range from tearfully joyous to bust-a-gut hysterical; Ben’s ears turn bright red when he laughs at something embarrassing, and he takes Rey’s hand when his father talks about _soulmates._

The bride and groom have their first dance to “When I Fall in Love”, sung by a live band and a golden-voiced singer with a dashing smile.

“ _When I fall in love, it will be forever / Or I’ll never fall in love…_ ”

Rey strikes a stunning visage, doe-eyed and perfect in all her little imperfections, like an Audrey Hepburn heroine at the start of a grand romance. The veil, still pinned into her hair, cascades down her back like a waterfall; her dress is an elegant off-the-shoulder number in gleaming ivory, with a narrow bodice and a wide skirt that infuses every step with femininity and grace. Over her husband’s shoulder, Rey can see her new mother-in-law, Leia, watching from her seat with a smile so warm that it’s almost difficult to look at. Her carefully arranged expression cracks just a little as she presses her forehead into the crisp fabric of Ben’s tuxedo; he radiates warmth like a furnace, his heartbeat steady like the murmurs of the earth itself. As if on cue, Ben gives Rey’s hand a squeeze, spinning her under his arm before pulling her back in close, leading with effortless grace.

Looking around the room, you’d never know that Rey has no family, no friends, no one to sit on the bride’s side of the aisle. The Solos have gone more than overboard, their joy at Ben’s happiness so obvious that it sometimes bordered on embarrassing. They have what seems like a hundred thousand friends, each of whom are treated like family and each of whom has embraced Rey so easily that it’s been downright adorable.

“ _When I give my heart, it will be completely / Or I’ll never give my heart…_ ”

Ben also invited what seems like the whole office, which has allowed Rey at least a modicum of familiarity, seeing as she’s been temping there for the past six months. Strictly during the engagement, of course; now that they’ve said their vows, everything is going to settle down. They have a new house waiting, already decorated lavishly; their car is outside, the chrome still gleaming, with streamers and tin cans tied to the bumper.

Rey snaps from her reverie as Ben presses a soft kiss to the skin of her neck.

“I love you,” he murmurs into her ear.

She pulls back, her beaming smile a beacon to the whole room. “I love you too,” she replies, her voice dissolving into a squeal as he dips her suddenly, much to the delight of the crowd. Ben’s hand is firm at her waist, his eyes glittering as he pulls her back up into his arms, lifting her nearly off her feet in order to kiss her. Rey twines her arms around his neck, smiling against his lips, as the room ripples with warm murmurs and scattered applause.

“ _And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too / Is when I fall in love with you…”_

They’re all in love with her, in their own way: as a daughter, a friend, a wife, even a piece of eye candy. Rey may have come out of nowhere, but she fits in so perfectly that it seems like she’s been there for years. Without a single doubt, Ben Solo is her tie to a brand new family, a life of stability and comfort, a happily ever after.

It’s a real shame she’s going to have to kill him.


	2. One: The Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Rey had met Ben any earlier, he might very well have unnerved her too; now that they’re settling down with each other, she finds he does a lot more observing than she initially realized. Rey is no stranger to being watched by possessive eyes, but there’s a quiet intelligence in his gaze that makes her feel as if she’s walking a tightrope with no net. But Rey has plenty of experience, and she’s able to execute her part with perfect accuracy no matter how much it infuriates her.

They honeymoon in New England, just for a weekend; Ben’s about to start on a major project at the firm, and their brand new house—a gift from his parents, one among many—is ready and waiting for them. Everything is already in its place when they walk in the front door; most of the furniture is brand new, but someone has placed a bunch of knick-knacks around that have to belong to Ben—no interior designer would ever have something so tacky as novelty golden dice—and Rey’s clothing has been hung in the walk-in closet as if she’s lived there for years. She immediately rips down every single hanger and rearranges it until it’s perfect, but that’s just par for the course. She has that kind of eye; Rey is precise in every regard, and never ever leaves behind a mess. Her carrot sticks are always perfectly julienned to within a sixteenth of an inch margin; her eggs are poached perfectly soft, and her cakes never fall in the oven. The homemaker’s life is the only thing she has ever been taught to do, but Rey is truly exceptional at it; she can spot a speck of dust before it even lands, and cleans the fine china often enough that it never has a chance to accumulate grime in the first place. For as long as she can stably remember, she’s been preparing to be a wife; and by now, she’s honed herself into something much keener, much quicker, much _sharper._

Married life quickly becomes a routine. When they were engaged, it seemed like there was never enough time to steal away with Ben; now, he leaves for breakfast every morning and Rey finds herself standing in the living room, looking around at an entire home of knick-knacks to dust again. She fills her days with cleaning, cooking, gardening; she grows tomatoes, zucchini, and basil in the backyard, and cooks them into lasagnas using noodles made with their hand-cranked pasta sheet roller—one of the many gifts from their registry. There’s always grout to scrub, always baseboards to sweep, always a cake to decorate. Ben sweeps in the door at precisely half past five each night, pressing a kiss to the apple of her cheek and swiping a single taste of whatever Rey is cooking for dinner that night before heading into his study until she calls him for the meal. After she’s cleared the dishes, he smokes a pipe and reads books, or listens to classical music; she does needlepoint or a crossword from the newspaper, always quick to refresh his drink or empty the ash tray.

In her free time, such as it exists, Rey secretly reads the books in Ben’s study, breathing in the scent of grimy paper and worn leather as she devours every word. She gets through the entire Encyclopedia Britannica within the first month, occasionally working a fact into their dinner conversation just often enough to make Ben smile. But only occasionally; Rey plays the ditz far more often than not, complete with a shy little giggle that's just as perfect as everything else she does. She knows how this works.

When she first met him, Rey didn’t think much of Ben Solo; he was quiet, unassuming, and the women at the office spoke about him in hushed whispers that were both fascinated and fearful. He seemed to have some kind of a nebulous reputation, but no details were ever divulged; he certainly seemed no different from any of his friends. The men of this office are all the same: arrogantly cocky, brazenly entitled, unashamedly ignorant, and infuriatingly well-paid.

The office whisper network parroted three things about Ben Solo: one, he never dated any particular woman for very long; two, the women he had dated described him as stilted and awkward in bed; and three, he was very, _very_ rich. Richer than he let on. Richer than any salary could pay. That's part of what made the first two things such stone-cold bummers.

To his credit, Ben hovers at the higher end of the curve when it comes to his gender. His features are stark and uncompromising, but they come together to form something more artful than mere handsomeness. He's not as loud and brash as other men—or, at least, he seems to shut the fuck up every once in a while and assess a situation, and _then_ he gets loud and brash. And, further to his credit, Ben was actually pretty good in the dating phase; endearingly awkward, a charming gentleman at every turn, he performed his earnestness so well that sometimes Rey very nearly believed it. Ben's family seemed nice, too—all the nicer when Rey learned that his mother, Leia, was the heiress to one of the last family dynasties of New England, possessing a mind-bogglingly large fortune that Ben stood to inherit. Throw in the fact that he was perfectly decent in bed, and it was all an absolute no-brainer when he got down on one knee.

No man is ever perfect, of course, and Rey knows better than most how quickly the facade fades once the ring's on her finger. They call these first few months the _honeymoon period_ for a reason. Things won't stay this good forever; eventually the shine will fade from his eyes, the smile on his face will turn to a snarl, and the nastiness will crawl out to haunt every half-glimpsed corner. Rey has not had an easy life, and over the years she's become quite adept at spotting the monsters inside of the men.

Ben is one of the more interesting monsters she's ever encountered; the smart ones are often adept at the long game, maintaining the facade for just long enough until she finally lets her guard down. And Rey isn't _not_ in love with him; he's charming and kind and noble and smart. They always are. But even the kindest of men contains at least a modicum of a monster, and Ben isn't even particularly good at hiding it; he has an undeniable darkness to him, something that flits in the shadows that cross his eyes, something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up for no particular reason. It's not surprising that the other women have found him a little unnerving, especially when combined with his intense gaze, which he uses unflinchingly, like a cobra or a jaguar. There's just enough wrong with Ben Solo that he's failed to land a woman better than the barren orphan without a proper last name. For Rey, it just makes the game interesting. She deserves a challenge.

And the truth is, Rey’s lucky to have him; not many other men of his calibre would accept damaged goods. She's a charity case; a pity wife; a consolation prize.

 _At least I put in_ effort _about it,_ she thinks to herself one Saturday afternoon, as Ben mows the lawn in pristine white chinos and a pastel coral button-up shirt. It's not quite hot enough yet for him to take off his shirt while he works, but spring always turns to summer; it's inevitable.

Rey pulls the maraschino cherry out of her drink and plays it against her lips, making direct eye contact with Ben until he notices her and his ears turn bright red. These endearing moments are especially fascinating for Rey, because he's just so _good_ at them. It's made for an engaging game of Spot the Monster.

Ben leaves the mower in the middle of the lawn and strolls over, pouring himself a glass of sangria from the pitcher on the table.

"How's the crossword today?" he asks, before taking a drink.

Rey shrugs. "Stuck on five-down: eight letters, ' _to evade responsibility_.' A, B, three blanks, A, blank, E."

 _Abrogate,_ she thinks.

Ben squints, then shoots her a dashing grin. "Abdicate," he says, setting his glass down on the table with a flourish and coming around to hover at the side of her lawn chair to see the grid. "It's an obscure definition of the term, actually. A-B-D—" his voice dies in his throat as Rey chews down hard on the maraschino cherry, squirting bright red juice all over the thigh of his pants, roughly where the femoral artery would sever.

There’s a hanging moment of shocked silence when he realizes what she’s done, and it’s _almost_ as good as the real thing: Ben's mouth is hanging slack, his eyes wide enough that she can see the whites all around the irises. He looks down at his leg as if his heart has just dropped to his toes, and Rey exhales a slow breath before swallowing the cherry and contorting her face into the perfect mixture of concern and surprise.

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry!" she gushes, leaping from her chair. "Let's get those off you right away, I'll pop them into some bleach and they'll be good as new."

She’s very good at blood stains. But that’s a given.

Men never realize what women are truly up to; it's almost comical how much freedom Rey has, at least within the confines of their home and yard. Rey knows every inch of the house backwards and front, has stared at the shrubbery so long that she's memorized the outline of every leaf and twig. She reads the books in the study again, teaching herself algebra from Ben's high school textbooks, covered in his distinctive barely-legible scribble. Ben, at least, has a lot of books. That's refreshing, especially after the last time Rey played this particular game.

As the first few months of their marriage pass by, it almost seems like a vacation; Ben is relatively easygoing, if a little particular about how he likes his steak. He's bumbling, in his own way; there’s an earnest shadow behind his eyes, and a quiet softness that belies his massive frame. He's different.

They make love every Saturday night like clockwork; Rey gives a convincing show of pleasure, and Ben is always more gentle than she expects him to be, always checking in with her, always tense and holding back. It’s strange to be treated as if she’s about to break; in fact, Rey is surprised to find that it’s less arousing than she thought it would be. But that’s no matter; she finds her real release in the long bubble baths she takes, her hand moving as quietly as possible under the water so as not to splash.

If Rey had met Ben any earlier, he might very well have unnerved her too; now that they’re settling down with each other, she finds he does a lot more observing than she initially realized. Rey is no stranger to being watched by possessive eyes, but there’s a quiet intelligence in his gaze that makes her feel as if she’s walking a tightrope with no net. But Rey has plenty of experience, and she’s able to execute her part with perfect accuracy no matter how much it infuriates her.

Rey knows how to do all of these things because no one ever believed she’d be anything better. She lives a bifurcated existence, simultaneously seeking and loathing the role at which she excels. Being the perfect trophy wife is hard work; it’s a lot of long hours, cramped shoulders, and burns from the oven. There’s nothing wrong with any of it, of course; in fact, Rey relishes in the ability to control her environment so precisely. She wants nothing more than to be kept safe and secure, and she’s happy to provide for the man who puts a ring on her finger and vows to cherish her until death do them part. It’s not her fault that the men can’t ever seem to hold up their end of the bargain.

It didn’t begin this way, of course; she believed in true love at first, just like everyone else. She was eighteen, and Johnny had a rakish smile and smelled like clove cigarettes; and by the time she shot him with his own gun, Rey had given him every part of herself she could carve away, and he had given her nothing but scars. The goddamn idiot hadn’t even put her into his will.

Rey is a very quick learner; she can remember everything she’s read, from the classics of Shakespeare to the ingredients on soup cans. She learned a lot of lessons from Johnny. She learned even more lessons with Howard, including the fact that you can go in the opposite direction from one kind of man and you’ll only ever run into a different kind of monster. It doesn’t matter if they’re Democrat or Republican, Catholic or Protestant, white collar or blue: all of them promise the world, and none of them ever intend to deliver.

But Ben _is_ different. Even as his manners slide and his attention wanders, he never resorts to the outright brutality of the other monsters she’s battled; but at some point he does pull away, falling silent at the dinner table and forgetting to take out the trash. Rey is waiting for the other shoe to drop, of course; she knows how this works, and her guard never wavers. But constant vigilance is exhausting, and after a number of weeks Rey finds herself wishing he’d just snap already, so that all the worst secrets can finally be out in the open and she can start planning the best way to dispatch of such a large body.

He’ll be impossible to drag all on her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end of the non-smutty portion of our program. Just filth from here on out, lovelies. See you next Saturday. ;-) 
> 
> Comments are extremely appreciated! Come find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/littlestarlost) and say hi too!


	3. Two: The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murder isn’t actually that hard. The only reason men get caught so often is that they can’t bear to be caught asking about proper laundering technique to remove the bloodstains; instead they always go for hot water and desperate scrubbing. Typical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, my sweets. It is not quite Saturday, but I've had a truly exhausting evening, so I have declared an early Sabbath and unleashed this week's chapter. I truly hope you all enjoy, and that you let me know if you do. 
> 
> Few to no triggering topics in this chapter, but I have listed warnings in the end notes for the sake of due diligence.

In June, Ben asks her—well, tells her—to plan a dinner party for a few of the guys from work, plus their wives. Rey seethes behind her perfect smile as half a dozen men trample dirt into her carpets and as their wives descend on her kitchen, carrying identical Tupperware containers stuffed with hideously inferior versions of the planned menu: Brussels sprouts that smell like farts, limp steamed carrots, a salad so drenched in creamy dressing it's almost a soup. Rey's made absolutely everything already, of course, and stares down half a dozen petulant scowls before inviting the ladies to store their items in the refrigerator. When they all return to the living room, it's already obscured with a haze of cigarette smoke and the obnoxious roar of laughter from the men. It takes a moment for their faces to emerge from the gloom; Rey recognizes some people from the wedding, but others are strangers, and one man in particular with shocking silver-white hair seems to leer in a way that makes her dig her bright red nails into her palm. Rey finds Ben in his usual chair, laughing at some cheap joke or another, and in the moment before he notices her Rey swears she sees the same profound emptiness in his eyes that she currently feels.

_He's different,_ she thinks again, like an itch that she'd have to scratch through her skull to relieve.

Ben sees her then, and grins like every other jackass mid-level executive she’s ever known. “Rey, sweetheart, will you get us some wine?"

"And more of these cheese crisps!” Jackson mumbles through a mouthful of food. He turns back to the conversation at hand, spraying crumbs all across her carpet when he laughs, and Rey’s left eye twitches.

Her eye twitched when Johnny raised his hand towards her, and when Howard got that leering snarl after one too many rum punches. With Anders, it got so bad that Rey's face didn't relax until his body went limp under the pillow she used to smother him.

Jackson isn't her husband. That unfortunate role is filled by Ingrid, or maybe Anne. Rey's having trouble keeping track.

In the kitchen, the women are sipping their drinks and tapping cigarette ash into the sink. Anne rounds on Rey as soon as she enters.

“Miss Hostess! I can’t help but notice an absence of little pitter-patters ‘round these parts! When are you and Ben going to?"

Rey blinks. "Going to…?"

Anne pats her protruding belly. "Little Solos! I bet they'll be so cute with those ears of Ben’s, when my Pete was born he was all ears and goop!"

"I can't have children," Rey replies simply. All of them recoil.

"What do you do all day?" Ingrid asks timidly.

Rey shrugs. "What do the rest of you do? I cook. I clean. I garden. I tend to my crafts."

Emily cocks an immaculately plucked eyebrow. "Lucky you."

Ingrid smacks Emily's arm, appalled. "Don't say that!"

"What?" Emily juts her cigarette.

"You can't say she's _lucky_ ," Ingrid hisses, as if Rey isn't even there. "She's _barren_! She's got nothing to do all day!"

Emily throws out her arms, nearly spilling her martini. "Do you know what I would _kill_ to have nothing to do for once? I spend all my time cleaning up shit and snot, and that's just from John; the kids are a whole different story!"

All the women burst out laughing, and Rey plasters a smile across her face for precisely as long as it takes her to exit this excruciating conversation.

At dinner, she sits at the foot of the table and listens to her guests yell across the table at each other and ignore her beautiful food. The silver-haired man—Roger, she hears someone call him—delivers a punchline so forcefully that he literally blows out the decorative candles she lit as part of the centrepiece. The women, meanwhile, carry on a parallel conversation, talking over their husbands as if they’re just so much white noise. The cacophony overwhelms Rey past the point of coherence, so she completely dissociates and eats her meal in robotic silence, an utterly empty husk that moves and chews and swallows and smiles just like a real person. When she next gains sentience, Rey is standing in the study, with a crisp cold martini in one hand. She’s been backed up into the dimmest corner of the room by Roger, who’s narrowing his eyes at her like a predator seizing up prey.

“What did you say your name was, sweetheart?”

Rey is instantly on her guard; her heart is thudding in her chest, her eyes wide and alert. She assesses her opponent: tall, older, wearing a good suit and an even better watch, and leering at her with a steely glare that tells her absolutely everything she needs to know about both the monster and the man. Outwardly, her face softens into a friendly grin, with just a _soupçon_ of flirtatious lip biting for sparkle.

“It’s Rey,” she answers smoothly. “And you’re…Ricky, right?”

He snorts derisively. “Roger, actually.”

“Yes! Of course. It’s a pleasure to have you.” It’s all automatic by this point; behind the mask, Rey is frantically calculating the best way to twist out of this situation while maintaining a maximum level of social acceptability. The options don’t look great.

“I could have sworn I’ve seen you somewhere before,” Roger is saying, leering in even closer. Rey sets her drink down on the bookshelf behind her with an abrupt _thunk_ , and she hears a few droplets hit some of the leather spines. She has to clean that up within the next five minutes or it might cause a stain you can’t ever remove—

“—Excuse me, please,” she blurts, a desperate last resort. Of course, the asshole doesn’t budge.

“I could have _sworn_ there was a secretary back in Boston—”

“—Darling!” Rey calls, spotting Ben at the doorway. Her heartbeat quickens as he strides towards them, and she watches Roger’s face snap instantly from menace to charm as he finally, _finally_ steps back.

“Roger!” Ben exclaims, holding out his hand for a firm shake. “How’s life on the sixteenth floor?”

“Better than fourteen, I hope!” Roger brays, and they both crack up laughing as if they don’t work in identically soulless pits of vomit-coloured carpeting and barely concealed grift. Rey clenches her fist so hard that her nails slice into the flesh of her palm, and she has to cup her hand so the blood doesn’t spill onto the floor; but the boys haven’t given her an opening to politely excuse herself, and she doesn’t want to be rude to their guests. Roger gestures at her with his drink, sloshing vodka all over the carpet.

“—I was just telling your ball and chain here how familiar she looks to one of the gals at—”

“—Have a good night!” Rey snaps, but her tone’s all wrong—voice pitched too high, and the words slur together awkwardly. It doesn’t matter; she bolts immediately, her attention focused on the quickest path out of the house. When she next comes back to herself, it’s pitch black outside, her surroundings lit by the waning moon and the distant glow of street lights in the distance. She has no idea where she is; when she checks her watch, it says she’s been gone for three hours.

By the time Rey gets back to the house, her beautiful high heels have broken to nubs, and her stockings have worn through from walking on asphalt for the last hour. The house is dark and quiet; Ben is already fast asleep upstairs, and the entire main floor is a disaster: scuffed floors, dirty dishes, leftover food, soap scum on the bathroom sink, and the ashtrays are all overflowing.

Rey cleans the entire mess in near silence, drying and stacking every dish one by one so they don’t clink together and sweeping in time with the ticking grandfather clock in the hallway. By the time she’s finished, her hands are red and cracked from the lye and bleach, and she’s trembling so hard that she can barely control her mop; but the entire house is spotless, and Rey even has coffee ready when Ben shuffles into the kitchen.

“Good morning, darling,” she says, just as she does every day.

He narrows his eyes. “Where the fuck did you go last night?”

_I don’t know,_ she can’t say.

Rey swallows. “I went for a walk.”

“For the whole night?”

She blinks, momentarily staggered, as the hours and hours of walking and housework finally hit her like a sack of bricks; somewhere inside of her a pilot light sparks, igniting fury as bright as the flash of an atomic bomb. Rey puts on her very best smile.

“Yes, Ben,” she says through her teeth. “For the whole entire night.”

She’s going to absolutely fucking kill him.

Murder isn’t actually that hard. The only reason men get caught so often is that they can’t bear to be caught asking about proper laundering technique to remove the bloodstains; instead they always go for hot water and desperate scrubbing. Typical.

Rey has done this all before, and normally the planning phase of the game is one of her favourite parts. And there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be the same way this time; Ben has the same intensity as all of her previous husbands. He drinks the same cocktails and smokes the same cigars. He should have the same fury, the same meanness, the same venom; men are, after all, monsters.

However.

Rey expects Ben to be furious with her about the party, but he never mentions it again. It’s a curveball, she has to admit; even the most level-headed man would blow up after that kind of a humiliation, but instead Ben just seems to watch her even more intently, as if he’s playing the same game she is. She's not used to this level of scrutiny—she’s still perfect, it’s just tougher without the wiggle room of basic male ignorance—and then something horrible happens: Rey starts to chicken out.

She stands behind him at the top of the stairs, her hands outstretched to push, but then she thinks about how thick and broad his shoulders are and knows he’d probably catch his balance.

While preparing martinis, she stares at her beautiful crystal bottle of arsenic for so long that Ben calls for her, and yet can’t bring herself to uncap the cork.

As she clears up dinner, she takes the carving fork and stares at the back of his neck, hyperfocused on the space between vertebrae where she could plunge in the tines and twist to snap all his beautiful nerves like fraying yarn. She loses herself in the fantasy for so long that Ben goes into the study for his after-meal drink, leaving his cloth napkin sitting abandoned in a puddle of leftover gravy.

These little moments of non-murder build up like slivers beneath her skin, and it’s not long before Rey’s fury starts to sputter and shift into something much more akin to panic.

Panic is dangerous. Panic makes you sloppy. Rey is not sloppy.

It’s a dark and stormy night when it all comes to a head; Ben has just dropped his third olive pit onto the tablecloth, and Rey grabs the bottle of drain cleaner almost as an afterthought, dumping more than a splash into his soup as she assembles the first course.

It’s messy. It’s really messy, and it’s going to be a son of a bitch to clean up.

As Rey sets the soup down in front of Ben, she notices a drop of neon blue on the edge of the spotless white china, just as he picks up his spoon. She uses the corner of her apron to wipe it away, distracting him with a bat of her eyelashes, and then makes a beeline out of the room as quickly as possible, looking back over her shoulder, just once, as Ben raises the spoon to his lips. Rey walks down the hall to the bathroom and closes the door without turning on the light; she stands at the vanity, gripping the sink with white knuckles as she waits for the sound of choking, of the thump as his body falls. Experience has taught her that these things often take much longer than she thinks they will, and that time stretches and warps when you’re waiting for a man to die, until every second feels like a geologic eon. But Rey is patient, and Rey is perfect; so she waits, head hanging, until she can breathe steady again. When she looks up at her reflection, silvery in the moonlight from the frosted glass window, she sees her eyes are shining— _that’s never happened before._

No matter. Rey knows how the game works, and this is truly for the best, regardless of how sweet Ben had been. He was turning; they always turn. Maybe it’s better to take out the monster while there’s still enough man left to mourn.

But something is wrong when she opens the door. There’s no light in the hall, nothing from the kitchen or the dining room; the storm must have knocked out the power. Rey steels herself, head held high, and when she walks down the hall her footsteps seem to echo as if she’s suddenly all alone. The dining room seems deathly still, and she licks her lips as they go dry.

“…Ben?”

There’s a crack of lightning, and the flash illuminates his hulking frame where he was lurking in the dark. He moves much faster than she thought possible, crossing the gap between them and grabbing her by the neck.

“What—” Rey’s voice dies in her throat as Ben backs her up against the wall. She punches out at him, but he snags both her wrists in his other hand and pins them over her head with a heavy _thud_. Ben’s grip is just as precise as the rest of him, the tip of his thumb and forefinger notched just under the hinge points of her jaw, and Rey can feel the pulse in his palm every time she takes a breath. With one tiny squeeze, he could cut off her airway—but he doesn’t. She stills as he crushes close to her, the shadow-wild glint of his brown eyes filling her entire field of view, and when he speaks his lips just barely graze the skin of her cheek.

“Why do you want to kill me, Rey?” Ben’s voice is soft, low, gentle and terrifying in equal measure.

“I don’t—” Rey’s breath hitches as he comes even closer, his thigh shoved between her legs. Ben raises her chin, leaving her neck exposed, and for a moment Rey thinks of wolves and fangs and the mingling howls of predator and prey. Against every instinct, she finds that the notion lights a fire of excitement that races through her veins like fire through dry forest. This is a monster who seems entirely different.

“I’m going to ask you again,” Ben says, his voice even lower, a growl that resonates deep in the pit of her stomach, as he leans down and rakes his teeth hard against the line of her jaw. Rey gasps as his lips nearly cover hers, but he remains just far enough out of reach. 

“Ben—”

“Why,” he rolls his hips sharply against her, almost lifting her off her feet, “do you want to kill me?” 

“I—” she stammers, heart thudding against her ribs. “I don’t—know—”

She could have sworn she knew.

Ben abruptly stops, his gaze shifting from fiery anger to laser-focused curiosity. “Did you do this? With all the others?” 

“What others?” Rey tries weakly, but even as the words leave her lips she knows he sees right through her. His eyes crinkle at the edges, casting a shadow of a smile over his face.

“Don’t be naive, Rey; a man with my financial means would be a fool not to do a thorough investigation on his bride-to-be. Seems you’ve been on a veritable journey these past few years, Mrs. Solo. Quite the list, you know. All very promising men.”

“They were assholes,” Rey spits. 

Ben cocks his head ever so slightly. “Is that so?” he murmurs. “Did they beat you? Assault you?” 

“Some of them,” she replies bitterly. “What do you care?” 

“Did they neglect you? Ignore you during dinner? Did they cheat? Were they just _boring_?” Ben’s voice has melted into a purr as he pins her to the wall with his whole body, an immovable object braced against an unstoppable force. He rolls his hips again, and Rey can’t help the needy sound that escapes her as she feels him hard against her bare thigh. 

“Mayb—ah!” Rey’s voice dissolves into a whimper as Ben squeezes her wrists together over her head; she arches into his other hand where it grabs roughly at her waist. “They made me feel—invisible—” 

“Did they think they could _own_ you?” Ben drags her bottom lip between his teeth, his hand moving lower, past the hem of her skirt. “Let you fade into the background of their important lives?” 

Rey can only nod, her hands grasping at nothing, desperate to rake her fingers through his glorious dark hair and pull until he screams. 

“Were they afraid of you?” his hand creeps between her legs, and he grins wolfishly when he feels her arousal. 

“No,” Rey retorts, shuddering as he slips a finger inside her. “They—they never saw it coming—” 

“Were you always going to kill me, Rey?” Ben adds a second finger, curling them until her eyes roll back in her head and a quavering gasp escapes her.

“Y-yes—” her head falls back against the wall as her hips grind in rhythm with his hand, her feet slipping out of her heels as his fingers fuck into her harder and harder. It’s as if she’s an instrument and he a maestro, his hands deft and practiced, plucking nerves like violin strings until every breath sends little electric shocks across her chest. There’s a boom of thunder so loud that it seems to shake the entire house, and in the dark Ben transforms into something both more and less than human, his fingers utterly relentless as his erection throbs hard against her leg. There’s the sound of ripping fabric as Ben yanks the sleeve of her dress down; he sinks his teeth into the flesh of her shoulder so hard it’s a marvel he doesn’t draw blood, and Rey cries out, her toes curling as waves of pleasure crash over her, spurred and magnified by his relentless rhythm. When it’s over she slumps back, her limbs rubbery with euphoria and shock and giddy terror.

She’s come undone before. She’s become adept at knowing her own body. She’s _never_ felt like this.

Ben tilts his head curiously, as if he’s read her mind. “No one’s ever done that to you, have they?” his voice is a bare rasp; when Rey shakes her head, he grins with all of his teeth, releasing her wrists. “Mhm. Don't think I haven't noticed, when we've fucked in bed; you're always a million miles away, just going through the motions. You really haven’t given me much credit, sweetheart.”

Ben is hands down the most fascinating monster Rey has ever met, and it’s utterly intoxicating. She watches own her hand shoot out to grab the front of his shirt, yanking him back to her so violently that their heads almost knock together. Rey doesn’t so much kiss Ben as she fails to bite him, pressing her teeth against every part she can reach as he hastily unzips his pants.

“I’ve been watching you,” Ben growls. "You're seething, aren't you, Rey? You _hate_ this marriage.”

"I'm very gratef—" Rey is cut off as he grabs her face again.

"Don't patronize me, _wife,_ " he grins like a hyena, a wild thing giddy from the thrill of the hunt. "You're very good at the charade, but that's all it is, isn't it? A big fat lie. A performance. I don't even think you stop when you're asleep." He pushes his cock roughly into her, and Rey gasps as it becomes very clear the extent to which Ben has also held himself back in this early phase of the game. “It seems like this—" he thrusts, deeper than he’s ever gone before "—is the only way to truly get your attention. Certainly the only way you seem to like it."

"I'm going to kill you," her voice hitches, and he laughs in a huff by her ear.

"Why would you do that? Have I not provided for you? Have I not given you a roof over your head and food on the table?"

Now Rey laughs, tossing her head back against the wall as Ben picks her up by her thighs. "You say that like it's not the bare fucking minimu— _ah_ —" the words completely disappear as Ben fucks her up against the wall, literally lifting her off her feet.

"You take pleasure in subverting me, don't you?" He's panting, frenzied, monstrous.

Rey can't speak, her fluttering eyelashes making the lightning seem to stutter as a clap of thunder shakes the house.

"Can't just be content as my wife. Can't just _care_ for me. Are you trapped, Rey? Are you rattling your cage?"

"I will _slice_ you open—"

Ben scoops her legs into one arm and slams his other hand against the wall by her head. "Try it, sweetheart. See what will happen."

The sound only feeds the clamour of adrenaline; Rey’s hands finally find his hair and she pulls, as hard as she can, until he whimpers—not quite a scream, but somehow much better.

“You _hate_ being my trophy, don’t you?” he groans.

“More than anything,” she gasps against his shoulder, clinging to him so hard that her fingers ache. Ben thrusts sharply, rattling the china in the nearly cupboard again and again until finally there’s the chiming crash as something falls and shatters. The sound is like electricity in her veins; an invisible string snaps in her mind and she transforms into something ferocious, something feral, something to be tamed only by the most daring and talented of monsters.

“You can’t kill me, Rey,” Ben growls. “I haven’t given you _permission_.”

There’s a flash of lightning outside, and Rey’s whole world goes white as she comes, clenching so tightly around him that she vividly feels him throb with his own release just a moment later. Ben slows, panting hot in her ear, and the hammering of her pulse drives Rey to pull him into a kiss, desperate and needy, as her heart thuds painfully with an adrenaline she’s never felt before.

They’re both still alive by the time the power clicks back on.

The next morning dawns bright and sunny, the light gleaming off the last of the rain still clinging to the edges of the world. Rey wakes up alone; the clock on the wall says it's almost half past nine.

_What?!_

Just as she bolts upright in bed, Ben backs through the door, holding a tray in his massive hands. He's tied one of her aprons around his waist, just barely, and looks boyishly sweet in it.

Rey's mouth goes dry and she watches him in stunned silence as he comes to her side of the bed and offers the tray. There's a trio of pancakes, still wafting steam, covered in syrup with a perfect pat of butter on top; he's filled one of her crystal bowls with blackberries from the bushes in the corner of the backyard, and there’s a cup of black coffee with four sugar cubes on the side and a tiny spoon to stir them with, just how she likes.

_But I tried to kill you,_ she doesn't say.

"I, um. I hope you're hungry," Ben murmurs, as a blush rises to the top of his cheeks. Rey blinks, unsure if she's dreaming.

"I—Ben—"

"—Eat," he cuts her off with a grin. "I promise I haven't poisoned any of it." He carves a piece of the pancakes out with the edge of the fork and lifts it towards her.

_But I tried to kill you._ This time the words dissolve under a wave of bliss as she tastes the pancakes, her eyes rolling back in her head.

" _Oh_ ," she sighs, her mouth still full. "I—did you make these?"

Ben nods, beaming. "My dad taught me: no matter what you've done, all can be forgiven if you make a killer breakfast in bed. Pun not intended, I guess.” His expression softens now. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize how badly you needed it."

_But I tried to kill you,_ she nearly screams this time. This is fucking terrifying.

Rey puts down the fork with a _click_ against the plate. "Are you going to hurt me?"

"What? No, of course not.” The way Ben’s eyes widen, it's _fascinating,_ so uncannily earnest that she starts to wonder if she's read him all wrong. He tilts his head. “Are you going to hurt me, Rey?"

Rey looks at him: at the sleep-tousled mop of his hair, at the soft brown of his eyes, at the way a smile keeps playing at the corner of his mouth when he looks at her, even though he's trying to bite it back. And yet in between these waving reeds of docility stalks a monster who's intelligent and wicked and exciting and powerful and somehow _plays fair._ She takes a blackberry.

"I don't know," she answers, reaching forward to tuck the berry between his parted lips. Ben's Adam's apple bobs as he chews and swallows.

“I’ll take it,” he murmurs, his lips stained purple like ancient blood. Rey furrows her brow.

"What do you mean, _you’ll take it_?”

He reaches for her hand, intertwining their fingers, and his gold ring flashes in the morning light.

"I made a promise to have and hold you, Rey Solo. I keep my promises.”

_But I tried to kill you._

She could say it. Open her mouth, make the sounds, and pull the pin from this momentarily jammed grenade. But it’s not as if Ben doesn’t know, right? She outright told him the truth, and the memory of just how he extracted that information is overwhelming enough that Rey takes another bite of pancakes, unable to suppress the gurgling sound she makes because _christ_ these are the best pancakes in the whole world.

“You’re going to make me breakfast in bed every Sunday,” she says as she swallows. “Or I’ll poison your eggs.”

Ben cracks up, laughing with a little snort she's never heard before. “Deal,” he nods, leaning over to brush a chaste kiss against her temple. “You work hard, and you deserve to be pampered. Do you like chocolate chips?”

Definitely the most fascinating monster she's ever met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Discussion of infertility/pregnancy, attempted murder, rough sex.


	4. Three: The Ante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Did you like making me bleed, Rey?" he pants in her ear, his hand firm across the curve of her ass. "Answer me. Now."
> 
> Rey clamps her mouth shut, her jaw stubbornly set and her heart hammering as she takes in this new phase of the game.
> 
> Ben is clearly impatient. “Did you hope I'd swallow it? That it would rip me open from the inside out, inch by inch?"
> 
> Her lips spread in a thin smile. “Yes,” she replies casually, reaching far into the sink for a fork and ever-so-coincidentally pressing back against him at the same time. “Though depending on how much you bitched about it I wasn’t ruling out a quick smothering to speed up the process.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sweetlings. Welcome to another Sabbath of Sin; this is one of the shorter chapters of the fic, but it's no less delicious. Please heed the warnings in the end notes, though nothing too outlandish in this chapter.

For a while, things return to normal. Better than normal, in fact; Rey finds herself shivering with the same giddy high as she felt the first few weeks after the honeymoon, when everything was still novel. The strange warmth in her chest burns down in slow increments like an ember, stirred to life by every kiss on the cheek, every Friday bouquet of roses, every delighted grin at a delicious dinner. The moon waxes full and begins to wane, and Rey rides this strange and lingering sense of contentment—until one day she wakes up to find the ember crumbled to ash.

It was inevitable, and at first Rey thinks that maybe this time it might be different. But the cold creeps through her again, tarnishing the gleam off the whole affair, and everything starts seeming dull and limp around the edges. Ben stays at the office past dinner, and Rey sits alone in the darkened dining room, waiting at the fully set table while the potatoes go cold and the turkey dries out; when he complains about the texture of his sandwich the next day, she loses an entire quarter hour to staring at the honed edge of her very best butcher's knife. His compliments begin to repeat themselves and ring hollow, and his eyes remain fixed on the newspaper as she refills his coffee in the morning; mud is kicked into the foyer rug, and dirty socks gather in the corner of the bathroom where she trips over them on her way to the tub. Her attempts at dinnertime conversation are steamrolled left and right, as Ben shovels food into his mouth or asks her rhetorical questions in between work stories only to interrupt when she tries to respond.

One Saturday, after asking him to take out the trash for the sixth time, Rey's bathtub ministrations grow frustrated—almost violent—and her release feel numb and unsatisfying. Later, as Ben thrusts on top of her, Rey lies there and trembles, her blind rage easily masked as soundless pleasure, and she knows with terrible certainty what she has to do.

The next night, dinner is a slow roasted chicken and a baked stuffing made out of her from-scratch sourdough bread. She lets Ben carve the bird—sloppily, but he insists on it—and serves him the first plate full of food, which he digs into without even waiting for her to take her seat. Rey pays it no mind and serves herself a helping of meat, taking a scoop of stuffing from the opposite corner of the serving dish, and has just poured herself a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon when Ben abruptly stops mid-chew, his eyes going wide.

Rey's heart skips a beat, and she hides her terrified grin behind a sip of wine. When she lowers her glass, she's snapped back in character, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Darling? Is something wrong?"

Ben rests his fork on his plate and carefully pulls a sewing needle out of his mouth, setting it down on the dinner table with a light click, where the blood-stained metal glints in the lamplight.

When their eyes meet, it's as if all the air's been sucked out of the room; Rey fiddles with the stem of her wine glass as she watches Ben's face, imagining a hundred thousand different ways he might respond. His jaw twitches, and she digs her nails into the flesh of her leg so she doesn't flinch; they're both frozen, predator and prey hovering on the precipice of the chase, each waiting for the other to run first. Rey sees the muscles in Ben's neck flex, his hand clenching into a massive fist for a moment; but then he reaches forward and picks up the fork, taking another mouthful of food which he chews with thoughtful care. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he follows it with a sip of wine, wiping his mouth with his napkin instead of the back of his hand.

"Dinner is delicious," he finally says, and, and Rey breaks into a smile.

"Thank you, dear," she gushes, slicing into her chicken breast with one swift stroke, "it was just a little thing I whipped up last minute."

From there, the meal continues in a manner bordering on pastoral. Ben inquires politely about her day, and actually lets her answer uninterrupted; he asks followup questions, and seems to take thoughtful consideration of her opinions on his office woes. When she takes his empty plate, Rey stands over him for just a moment, letting her shadow fall across his face, drinking in the last remnants of fear lingering in the dilation of his pupils and the blush of red at his cheeks.

In the kitchen, Rey stops up the sink and fills it with hot soapy water, letting the steam bathe her face as she ties her apron back around her waist. She slips off her rings before plunging the food-crusted bowls and serving dishes under the bubbles, grabbing a sponge to start washing. The first round of dishes are easy: the dinner plates and cutlery, followed by her prep bowls and cutting board. After drying every utensil until it gleams, Rey turns to the more difficult items, which have now soaked for long enough that she should be able to tackle them; she drains the water and refills it fresh, settling into a rhythm as she begins to scrub the grease from her roasting pan. She's working so hard that she doesn't immediately notice when a shadow falls across the kitchen light, only pausing when the hair at the back of her neck stands on end. It’s Ben, looming close behind her, his breath hot by her ear.

"Rey," he growls, and her thighs clench at the possessive fury in his voice.

"Yes, Ben?" she manages to chirp, all innocence and pep. It's clear he isn't fooled.

"You've stepped _extremely_ out of line." As if to punctuate the statement, he grabs at her apron strings and pulls her hips back to meet his, rolling his erection against her. She gasps, dropping the sponge and turning to face him, but Ben puts a massive hand on her shoulders and shoves her back around.

"Bend over," he orders, his breath hot in her ear, "and keep washing." He doesn't wait for her to answer; he just yanks her hips back even farther until Rey is all but face level with the faucet, her back arching into his fingers where they span her shoulder blades.

"Did you like making me bleed, Rey?" he pants in her ear, his hand firm across the curve of her ass. "Answer me. _Now._ "

Rey clamps her mouth shut, her jaw stubbornly set and her heart hammering as she takes in this new phase of the game.

Ben is clearly impatient. “Did you hope I'd swallow it? That it would rip me open from the inside out, inch by inch?"

Her lips spread in a thin smile. “Yes,” she replies casually, reaching far into the sink for a fork and ever-so-coincidentally pressing back against him at the same time. “Though depending on how much you bitched about it I wasn’t ruling out a quick smothering to speed up the process.”

“Is that so?” his hands are moving shamelessly, groping wherever they please, and Rey huffs as he jostles a spatula right out of her hand.

“If you’re not going to help me with the dishes, could you kindly fuck off?” she rolls her eyes. “I’ve got a butcher knife under the water, and I’m very quick.”

There’s a _tut-tut_ sound by her ear as Ben’s hand slides into the neckline of her dress. “That’s no way to speak to your husband, Rey. I just don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’re normally so polite, I’m _very_ disappointed.” He speaks the last words into the skin by her pulse point, almost like a kiss.

“What happened to making me breakfast in bed?” Rey smirks over her shoulder, giving the spatula another scrape.

“Oh, I’ll still make you breakfast in bed,” Ben seethes into her ear. “But only if you behave.”

She snorts derisively, biting back a giggle at the way he positively _shakes_ when he hears it. “That’s not how this works,” she replies. “I’ll kill you, remember?”

“Well you haven’t killed me yet,” he growls, and the tone of his voice makes something twist pleasantly in her core.

Rey shrugs. “It’s not even eight-thirty. There’s still time.”

Ben’s other hand leaves her waist to fumble at his fly for a moment; there's a _click_ of a belt buckle being loosened, and a rustle of clothes falling to the linoleum floor. She squeezes the sponge tight in her fist as Ben hikes up her dress, grasping rough fistfuls of fabric and tucking them into the band of her apron so they're out of the way; then he pulls her undergarments down past her knees and ruts against her shamelessly, his skin searing hot.

“I didn’t say you could stop washing,” Ben nips at her earlobe.

Rey swallows the lump that’s formed in her throat as she feels his cock leave a smear of pre-come across her inner thigh.

“Is that what excites you, then? Telling women what to do?” there’s more of a husk to her voice than she expected; that’s interesting. She clears her throat.

“Maybe,” Ben replies. “Does killing me excite _you_ , Rey?”

“Maybe." She smirks. "Is that why all the other girls were afraid of you? Did you push them around?”

He stops, momentarily stunned. "Never. Not a single time."

The smirk becomes a sneer. "Yes, that's right; you weren't a brute, just frigid. Maybe even _not interested_." It's a dirty move, but sometimes you have to fight to survive, and Rey lets the words hang in the air with every ounce of the weight they carry.

Ben chuckles, low in his chest. "I think you'll find evidence to the contrary right between your legs, sweetheart. I'm plenty interested in the _right_ women." He rolls his hips again, his cock nearly pushing inside her, and they both gasp at the same time.

"And what makes me the right woman?" Rey grits out, furious at how difficult it's becoming to keep her voice steady.

Ben pulls hips back, his fingers replacing his cock as he plays across the slick folds of skin, and he makes a humming sound. “You’re not afraid of me, are you, Rey?"

"What do you think?" she hisses.

"Of course not," he answers in a purr. "You weren't afraid of any of the others either, were you? Men generally fail to impress you, I'd bet."

"Have you met one?" Rey rolls her eyes.

"I have, and for the record I'm generally inclined to agree with your assessment," Ben murmurs hot in her ear. "But I confess I'm stuck on why you keep marrying us. The money, obviously, but that can't just be it. You're no floozy with a shopping habit; a sensible girl like you would know how to scrimp and save. I'm sure you were taught precisely how to clip a coupon at whatever finishing school spat you out."

"You are _such_ an asshole," Rey mutters.

"Keep washing," Ben orders, as if he hasn't heard her, and with a roll of her eyes Rey picks up a dish. "Good girl."

For a moment she's seized with something like an electric shock, sucking in a breath that catches high and vulnerable in her throat. Ben chuckles again.

"That. That right there. That's what you want, isn't it? That's why you keep trying again and again. You _love_ it. You want to be an obedient little thing, don't you?"

A sound like a growl slips out of her throat. "Fuck you."

" _Answer me._ " He grabs a hank of her hair and pulls her head back, while simultaneously pushing a finger inside her.

Rey exhales in a hiss as his teeth scrape against the skin of her temple. "Yes," she finally relents, trying and failing to hide her shudder of arousal when he releases his grip on her hair.

"And yet you aren't afraid of me," the control temporarily slips from his voice, and he pulls his finger out of her. There's a lewd slurping sound as he licks his finger clean, and Rey can't help it; she falters, caught in the web of fascinated revulsion at the thought of him tasting her like that. She's tense, her shoulders tight, clenching around the curiously empty feeling deep inside of her.

"Keep washing," Ben growls, and Rey grabs at the next item she can find, scrubbing in robotic circles under the water's surface, and she swears she hears him say _good girl_ again but it's just the splash of the water, the tick of the clock, the sound of his breath in her ear. She keeps her eyes trained on the bubbles floating between her forearms, and notices too late how the light shifts, jolting when she feels Ben's teeth sink lightly into the flesh of her ass. Rey stacks another clean plate with a nervous clatter, a lump swelling in her throat as his tongue flicks out to trace along the crease at the back of her thigh, moving inwards.

"Keep washing, Rey," his lips skitter across her flesh. "Be a _good_ wife."

His tongue presses against her then, and Rey goes stock still. Goosebumps ripple up and down her arms and she scrabbles blindly for something, anything, to hold onto; Ben groans, his face buried into the cleft of her ass, his tongue moving in long provocative strokes against her folds.

"Ben—" she chokes out, her breaths coming short and shallow, as something between arousal and disgust twists in the pit of her stomach.

He's not supposed to be there. He's not supposed to do that. All her other husbands treated this activity like something to be endured, when they did it at all, and often left Rey little choice in the matter either way. She's gotten the picture loud and clear, and has adjusted her expectations and preferences accordingly: no one likes doing it, and she's not supposed to like it. She _doesn't_ like it—except—

Her breath escapes hot and desperate. _Except—_

"I didn't say you could stop cleaning," Ben whispers, his lips reverberating against her skin. Dizzy with arousal and vertigo, Rey obediently picks up a fork, running it under the tap and swallowing back a cry when he plunges his tongue inside her, thrusting in shallow movements made awkward by the angle of his head. He comes up for air, luxuriously inhaling her scent, and growls: "I'm going to keep going until you've washed every last dish."

Rey makes a keening noise, the fork clattering to the floor beside their feet. Ben intensifies his ministrations, handing the fork back to her without breaking his rhythm. She squeezes her eyes shut as she washes it again, her entire mind focused on the hideously vulnerable sensation of his mouth and tongue at her entrance, making her simultaneously ache with pleasure and twist away with unspoken shame. Time stretches, each second seeming like an hour, until she can hardly stand how twisted it feels to have him on his knees for her. He’s more talented at this than he’s ever let on, and his exaggerated sounds of enjoyment draw shudders from the pit of her stomach as the sensations build on each other and start to scramble together. Memories claw their way out of the pit where she's locked them, voices of ghosts long since faded from her waking consciousness:

— _But it's Valentine's Day, baby, just let me—_

— _Ugh, you didn't tell me you were on the rag—_

Then Ben's tongue swipes against her just right, sending electric shocks up and down her spine, and she hears herself mewl out his name, and she _wants_ —

— _Gotta go wash my mouth out now, hang on—_

Her heart leaps to her throat, carrying with it a single desperate word as everything gets overwhelming and panic hits her like a drop of blood into water: "Wait—"

Ben pulls away immediately, and the the rest of her protest dies in her throat as he gets to his feet and wraps his arms around her waist, holding her protectively to his chest and burying his face into the crook of her shoulder, her arousal staining into the fabric of her dress. Rey's eyes widen, the sponge still dangling from one hand; she stares blankly out the bay window at the immaculately manicured yard and waits for an escalation that never seems to come. Ben just breathes in time with her, warm and solid, as seconds tick by with nothing but the sound of their ragged exhales and the gentle drip of water from the faucet.

"I—" she finally swallows. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

Ben shakes his head against her. "No, sweetheart," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her neck. "You did exactly what you were supposed to. You were so good."

She whimpers at that, and one of her hands curves over her head to bury itself in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for the sturdy promise of his body and the heat that radiates from all the places where his skin touches hers.

"You're so good," he's repeating into her ear, gently pulling stray hairs away from her face. "My perfect Rey. You do so good for me, I'm so proud of you—"

"Ben," she finds his name, clinging to it for dear life as his cock slides against her again. "Ben, please, I need— _please—_ "

"What do you need?" his voice cracks with something intense—a burst of sunlight through the storm—as their hips grind in primal rhythm, propelled by desire so strong that it obliterates any pretense. There's a splash as Rey pulls her hand out of the water, gripping the edge of the counter until her fingers ache.

"— _You_ ," she chokes out, shivering at the sound he makes into the nape of her neck. He fumbles between them, lining himself up and sinking into her in one smooth motion; Rey's head falls back against his shoulder, her mouth slack with pleasure as his arm tightens around her waist and his fingers stroke against her clit. Ben pants heavily in her ear as he thrusts into her harder and harder, and Rey braces herself against the counter to push back against him as best she can. Her legs tremble as her orgasm teeters on the knife's edge; her mouth is moving, begging for more, but no sound is coming out.

"My good girl," he whispers, biting at her earlobe. "My stunning little Rey, still so ferocious, still so _wild_ —"

Rey comes with a cry, her legs clamping shut around him, and Ben fucks her slow through every wave. He reaches his own end after a few more thrusts, his hips juddering to a stop as they both fight to catch their breath.

Afterwards, Ben helps her dry the dishes and even polishes the countertops for her, leaving a few nearly invisible streaks that Rey subtly buffs out when his back is turned. They work in companionable silence, all shy smiles and sideways glances; he helps put away items on the highest shelves, and she shows him how she stacks the roasting pans so they perfectly fit in the drawer under the oven.

Later that night, Ben climbs into bed and curls around her, like they're a nested pair of spoons in a drawer; Rey sighs contentedly, snuggling back against him, and sleep is just barely creeping around the edges of her perception when she feels Ben's lips move at her neck.

"Rey," he whispers, "you can always say no."

Her eyes fly open and she stares absently into the dark, swallowing the lump of tears that instantly coalesces in her throat.

"I mean it," Ben continues. "You can tell me to stop, at any time. I won't be mad, and you won't be in trouble; and if I ever fuck that up, I will more than deserve to die by your hand. I have no interest in making you do anything you don't want to do, not ever. Do you understand that?"

Rey can't speak; instead she pulls his hand around to press against her heart, clasping trembling fingers on top of the solid weight of his fist, and finally manages a tiny nod into the pillow.

She feels Ben smile. "Good," he murmurs, brushing a kiss to the nape of her neck. "Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: includes allusions to previous sexual shame and discomfort, specifically around cunnilingus. Ben pushes Rey's limits, but stops as soon as she says stop.


	5. Four: The Flop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of the time, she finds that the strictly platonic nature of their relationship is fulfilling enough—all the things she enjoys about keeping house with none of the demands that made all the edges of her life seem so sharp as to eventually draw blood in the past.
> 
> But the fever in her mind is always waiting, ready to crash through reality at a moment’s notice; and as time passes and Ben continues to keep his gentle distance, Rey starts to find herself overcome with a ferocious combination of rage and desire. The two opposing forces orbit faster and faster until she can barely sort out one from the other, and the next thing she knows she’s naked, standing in front of the steam-filled shower, a chef’s knife glinting in her hand as she watches the faint outline of Ben’s arms scrubbing across his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, darlings! Heed the warnings today, this is the chapter where some of the fic's tags are earned. 
> 
> I want to shout out Cecilia for making an absolutely incredible [photo manipulation](https://twitter.com/ceciliasheplin/status/1314357420467146754) of Rey and Ben in this fic, and also for giving the chapter a final read and boosting my confidence with it! Please go check out the manip and give her love. And thanks to Mel, as always, for being the best beta editor a girl could ask for. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_You can always say no._ It’s like being handed the keys to a bank vault, like possessing a world-breaking piece of knowledge. It’s like being able to divide by zero and unknit reality at any time.

One might expect Rey to use this newfound power at every available opportunity, but she’s the type to play her cards close to her chest; and plus, she’s never minded the work she does. There’s a little cresting wave of thrill at the thought of saying no to dusting the bookshelves again or vacuuming the foyer rug, but that doesn’t change the fact that those things need to be done, and it’s infinitely more satisfying to maintain her beautiful home than it is to let cobwebs gather in the corners of the living room. No one benefits from that.

Ben is even more different now that their respective monsters have sparred a few rounds. Outwardly he becomes more comfortable around her, asking her opinion on matters of finance and politics and taking her answers seriously; there’s now a significant chance that Rey will even change his mind, and the words _you’re right, sweetheart_ ring like beautiful bells every time she hears them. But she can always tell that he’s watching her, trying to see through her armour again now that he’s had a glimpse of what lies beneath, and it’s so disquieting that she finds herself digging even deeper into the pleasantries of her facade, even though she knows it’s ultimately futile. Rey can’t run any form of her existing playbook; this is brand new territory, and every part of her strategy needs to change if she’s going to regain an upper hand. It’s been a long time since she felt this off-kilter, and once she notices the imbalance it begins to grow at an exponential rate.

They stop having sex on Saturdays, without discussion or even much acknowledgement; at some point Ben stops asking, and at some point Rey realizes that he hasn’t been pouting about it. It’s yet another thing that makes him different; with her previous husbands, there was a power vacuum that emerged—an unspoken expectation that she would continue to offer herself even when the explicit requests were reluctantly withdrawn. But Ben just waits and watches, seemingly content with a chaste peck on the cheek each morning, and if he finds a way to discreetly pleasure himself then Rey supposes she can’t begrudge him that. Most of the time, she finds that the strictly platonic nature of their relationship is fulfilling enough—all the things she enjoys about keeping house with none of the demands that made all the edges of her life seem so sharp as to eventually draw blood in the past.

But the fever in her mind is always waiting, ready to crash through reality at a moment’s notice; and as time passes and Ben continues to keep his gentle distance, Rey starts to find herself overcome with a ferocious combination of rage and desire. The two opposing forces orbit faster and faster until she can barely sort out one from the other, and the next thing she knows she’s naked, standing in front of the steam-filled shower, a chef’s knife glinting in her hand as she watches the faint outline of Ben’s arms scrubbing across his chest.

The shower is huge, separate from the tub, a little room all its own made of slick granite and spotless glass. Most of the water comes from a rainfall panel in the ceiling, which pours in a neat vertical column down to the floor; there’s also water coming from the more traditional handheld shower head, affixed in its holder to the wall a few feet above the temperature knobs. Rey’s never used the rainfall panel; it’s something Ben wanted, and it’s always seemed obnoxiously decadent.

He doesn’t seem to notice her at first, stepping directly under the spray and tilting his face into the water as the soap cascades down his body, following the lines of his muscles like little eddies eroded into stone. Rey watches his shoulders flex in the stark light overhead, and she wonders if his skin is as thick as it looks. The thought pushes her forward into the shower itself, goosebumps trailing up her shins as her feet hit the tiles—but then she sees his head turn, his lips already twitching up into a smirk, and suddenly her heart is hammering far too fast and her thighs are clenching together around a sudden throb of desire.

Ben nods. “Rey.”

She tightens her grip on the knife, scrabbling to hold onto the thread of fury that momentarily made everything seem so simple again, but it’s slipping away like the remnants of a dream, crumbling into dust under the force of his gaze.

“Don’t move,” Rey hisses as Ben takes a step forward, then another. The water hits his shoulders, sending tiny flecks of the spray into her face, and she trembles with the effort to avoid wiping at her eyes. She raises the knife, her arm outstretched, and the tip of the blade pushes a tiny dimple into the skin of his chest.

It would be a long shot at this angle, but if she moved just right she could plunge the knife into his heart and be gone before his body hits the tiles.

But Ben is grinning like a hungry wolf, his cock already bobbing hard between his legs, and Rey finds that her arm will move no further. He looks down at the knife where it prods just a few inches below his clavicle.

“Stabbing me in the shower's a nice touch,” he smirks at her. “So are you going to do it?”

When Ben breathes, the resistance at the end of her blade shifts; his chest rises and falls in every place except for the spot where she’s pinned him, the skin warping around the knife tip but never quite managing to break.

“Do what?” Rey replies, her voice echoing against the tiles.

“Cut me,” he answers, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “Slice me up into little ribbons. Whatever it is you’d planned to do here.”

It’s at that moment Rey realizes she’s got no plan whatsoever, and too late she feels her eyes widen—a devastatingly obvious sign of vulnerability, a crack in her armour that he can use to overtake her in this game. Sure enough Ben brightens, his tongue licking slowly across the line of his white teeth.

“Oh, _Rey,_ ” he purrs, “whatever am I going to do with you?"

"Stay there!" she snaps, her hand trembling with fury.

Ben makes a _tut tut_ noise with his tongue. "Sweetheart, if you're going to be this bad at your job, why even try? You're like a wild animal sometimes, you get so out of control."

He's teasing her, pushing her buttons, and the worst part is that it's _working_ ; Rey feels her chest constrict, anger pulsing in her veins, as Ben remains effortlessly cool—as if his wife isn't threatening him at knifepoint.

"Do you think I'm afraid of you, Rey?" he asks, his voice a low growl, and against her will she finds herself entranced by a droplet of water cascading down the plane of his chest. She swallows, her mouth bone dry.

"You should be," she forces the words out, but they don't land with the impact she was hoping for; Ben's smile just widens, until he looks downright smarmy.

"Sweet girl. As if a husband would ever be afraid of his wife. That's not how any of this works: I chose you, and I keep you safe, and it's your _duty_ to obey me. You showing up in my shower with one of my knives is just… _disappointing_."

A primal screech flies out of her mouth and she slashes out blindly, the knife refracting the light bending through the water droplets that go flying in her wake. There's the lightest sense of drag, like a hangnail snagging on pantyhose; Ben's eyes go wide, and his breath hitches as they both look down at the thin line of bright red blood that's unfurling across the left side of his chest.

_Oh._

It's not much more than a scratch, but the fact that she's actually drawn blood seems to surprise him, and he falters; Rey seizes the opportunity and closes the distance between them, holding the blade across his throat now, backing him up until he's pressed against the shower wall and craning his head in an attempt to lessen the pressure of the blade at his neck. Rey stands on tiptoe, studying Ben’s face, watching as his brow furrows and his mouth pulls into a fearful line. She grins, bearing all of her teeth, and turns the knife where it's perched at the apex of his Adam's apple.

"That's what I am, then? A wild animal?"

The seam of blood on his chest is already getting diluted by the shower spray, and before he can move she darts in and licks it, her eyes fluttering shut at the forbidden taste of iron mixed with the clean smell of his soap and the warm cascade of the water droplets across his skin. Ben’s chest drops as his breath explodes out of him, his cock so hard it throbs between her thighs. Rey feels him grab her wrist and pull the knife away from his throat, as his other hand comes up to close around her neck, tilting her chin until she’s forced to look up at him.

“You’re _ferocious_ today,” he leans down and licks at her bottom lip, pulling back with a bright red droplet of blood just barely visible on the tip of his tongue. Then he moves quicker than she can follow, whipping them around so that she’s now the one backed up against the wall, and the knife hits the tile with a loud _clink_. Ben looks down at it, clearly amused.

“I’ll let you keep that for now, as long as you behave. Turn around.”

He doesn’t wait for her to obey, seizing her shoulders and arranging her like a doll so that she’s bent at an angle, her hands—one still holding the knife—braced against the wall. The rainfall hits the small of her back, the water achingly hot, and Rey can’t help but sigh when she feels Ben’s cock slide across her entrance, his hips solid and warm against hers.

“Things have been good, haven’t they?” Ben says, his voice resonating across the tiles so that it seems to come from every direction. “I’ve remembered to take out the trash. I’ve respected you every way I can. You must know I don’t take you for granted.” He bends over, his teeth grazing hard against the crook of her shoulder. “So why the knife?”

Rey jerks to slash backwards at him, but he catches her arm before she can move more than an inch; the knife handle scrapes against the wall with a hollow sound.

“Now, now, we can’t have that,” Ben rasps as he straightens, and Rey shivers as the water hits her back again. “I told you to _behave._ ”

There’s a loud _smack_ as his other hand meets the flesh of her ass, and Rey gasps, her heart skipping a beat at the sudden sting.

“You like that?” Ben chuckles low in his chest, but his hand rests gently on the place where he spanked her—an unspoken question, an easy exit. _You can always say no._

But Rey’s having far too much fun, so instead she shifts the knife, tapping it provocatively against the granite. She hears Ben huff with laughter and imagines his teeth flashing white and gleaming.

“You are _fascinating_ ,” he rumbles, as he pulls away to spank her again, landing in exactly the same spot and sending a whole new wave of overwhelming sensations cascading across Rey’s body. "You seem to love being punished. Why is that, I wonder?"

“Who says I love it?” Rey hisses, tilting her head back, seeking the comfort of the water’s heat, and her mouth falls open when she feels Ben’s fingers comb through her hair, grabbing a handful to keep her head in place just barely outside of the column of falling water. She lets out a frustrated whimper, clenching her thighs tightly together as her whole body aches with lust.

“My apologies, I misspoke: you seem to love being punished by _me_ ,” Ben says, his voice like silk. “I doubt you would have let any of your previous husbands do this.” He spanks her again, by way of demonstration.

“I killed them before they got the chance,” Rey spits, her mouth twisting into a smirk.

“I’m sure you did,” Ben purrs, his cock sliding back between her legs. “In fact, I’m quite sure that you executed a meticulous plan to dispatch of each and every one of them. It’s an honour to have survived this long in your mercy, Mrs. Solo.” He releases her hair, and she drops her head between her arms.

“You have no idea what my mercy is like,” she chokes out, as the twin fires of arousal and anger burn fervently beneath her skin.

She hears an amused hum. “I’ll be sure to find out, then.”

Her fingers tighten around the knife so hard she begins to tremble, but Ben just chuckles, his hand running up and down her arm and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“We both know you’re going to drop the knife, Rey,” he murmurs. “After all, sudden fits of rage aren’t your style, are they? Too messy. You have too much of an eye for detail; you pride yourself in paying attention to every single thing.”

“You do it too,” Rey mutters, unable to keep the shiver out of her voice. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Of course I do it too. I know a lot about you, sweetheart. You’ve got _dozens_ of tells, by the way,” he rasps, cupping her breasts in his massive hands and stroking her nipples with his thumbs, pulling her torso upright so she's directly under the shower's spray. Rey nearly loses her grip on the knife as she's instantly drenched, her chest heaving under his hands. Ben's mouth finds the back of her neck, his tongue chasing the rivulets of water across her skin as he reaches around her—keeping a wide berth of the knife—to grab the bar of soap from its dish. She distantly hears the desperate noise she makes as he strokes the soap across the skin of her stomach, across her sternum, and around every other curve he can reach.

“You killed the others because they never noticed you.” Ben’s voice is ragged as he runs his hands down the sides of her ribcage, his fingers nearly touching at the narrowest part of her waist. “But I’ve taken _great_ pleasure in noticing you, Rey. All sorts of little things. I’ve noticed this—” his tongue curves across the crescent-shaped scar at the base of her skull. “That was from a curling iron, wasn’t it? An accident, I assume.”

“Yes,” Rey breathes, the word escaping her lips before she can bother to stop it.

The bar of soap skitters across her spine. “This is a birthmark. Almost looks like a little bird. And these—” his fingernails scrape dull trenches in the soap suds at her hips, “—stretch marks from puberty, right? You’ve always been ashamed of them.”

“Ben…”

The soap drops to the ground with a little _splat_ , and Rey shudders as Ben’s hands roam shamelessly across the skin of her ass, playing at the inner edge of her thighs.

“Here’s a bunch of scratches from…I’m guessing some brambles, when you were young; no one was around to patch you up. And you’ve got a scar on your hand, right at the base of your index finger, a thick silver line you're worried people will notice. Everything about you is fascinating, sweetheart,” he pants as he twists his fingers through her pubic hair, holding her too tightly for her to squirm away even if she wanted to. “Poor little Rey. No one appreciated you for the work of art that you are, not even when you buried all these imperfections beneath that dazzling little smile,” he leans in to whisper in her ear. “But I’ve seen your scars.”

He pauses to nip at her earlobe, and then he presses his forehead to her temple, the water cascading down both of their faces as he nuzzles into her with a desperate and feral intimacy.

"Drop the knife," he whispers, his breath so heavy in her ear that it very nearly sounds like a plea.

Rey turns until they're pressed forehead to forehead, finding the same wild fire in his gaze as she feels burning behind her own. Then she rolls her hips back against him—a deliberate, unambiguous provocation.

"Never," she pants, shivering in delight at the flash of surprise that crosses his face. Rey can almost see how the gears turn in Ben’s mind, as he synthesizes this new information and reworks his strategy in a fraction of a second. He makes a noise from somewhere deep in the most monstrous part of himself and shoves his cock inside her with a single thrust of his hips, catching her utterly off guard.

“What would it take, Rey? What do you want?” Ben pants, grabbing the portable shower head and twisting the rim so that the water constricts to a rapid pulsating stream. He starts to fuck her, one hand grabbing at her waist as she rolls back against him, and with the other hand he aims the shower head at her clit. Rey’s whimpers echo off the tiles as he finds the perfect angle to hit the most sensitive nerves, sending white-hot sensations through her body. She sobs, caught between the aching thrust of his cock inside of her and the searing blaze of pleasure when the water hits her just right, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird, and it’s so much, it’s too much—

Just as she opens her mouth to cry out _,_ Ben pulls the shower head away, his hips slowing as he sets it back in its holder again. Rey groans in frustration, her pulse receding as she fails to tip over the edge.

“You bastard,” she hisses.

“You really think I’d let you come that easily?” Ben grunts with laughter. “As if you’re not begging me for a challenge at every turn? _Please._ ” He sets a new pace, slow and deliberate, and laughs when she squirms for more. “That’s another tell of yours, by the way. How you’ll push yourself to the edge of your limits at the slightest provocation. You want to be punished this way because it means I’ve paid enough attention that you need to try something new. You want me to make you feel _ravished._ ”

It’s so true it makes her ears ring, and she whimpers.

“And yet you dislike when…" he trails off, but his fingertips graze against her clit, and Rey jolts as he strokes the too-sensitive skin, biting back a cry.

"Ben—"

He stops moving, but stays hard inside her. “Did they make you bad about it? All the others, before me. Did they complain?"

This is literally the last thing Rey wanted to talk about. “Not always," she grits out, "but I got the message."

“What if I told you I loved it?" Ben murmurs, as his hands begin to roam again, settling on her hips to tilt her to an even deeper angle.

"I wouldn't believe you," Rey shudders, bracing her hand on the wall again. "It doesn't seem right."

She can imagine the quirk of his mouth upward into a smile. "Why not?"

"I don't know. It's too—" she grasps for the word in between the sparking jolts of pleasure, "— _vulnerable_."

She regrets the word as soon as it leaves her lips, as another crack appears in her armour that she knows she'll never be able to close again. Ben's hands are so huge that he can span the entire width of her hips, his thumbs meeting at the middle, digging gently into the cleft of her ass.

"So it's vulnerability you can't stand," he says. "Interesting. Are you ashamed, Rey? Do you think you're disgusting?"

She barks with laughter, poisonous and bitter. “I told you not to patronize me."

Ben snaps his hips against her, and his thumb slips downwards by an inch or so. "You're still holding the knife."

"And you're still humping me like a dog," Rey retorts between breaths, turning to glance back at him over her shoulder. "Your point?"

Ben shakes his hair out of his face with a grin. "No, you're right," he purrs, as his thumb moves even lower and Rey jolts as she realizes what he wants to do. "How silly of me; you would never think you're disgusting. You think _I'm_ disgusting." He snaps his hips again, making her squeal.

Rey can't really argue with that, not when he feels so incredibly good inside her, when the hot water makes everything slick and soft and it feels so incredibly easy to surrender.

"None of the others ever realized how much you hated them, did they?" Ben says. "And you killed them for it."

"I gave them their chance," she snaps, readjusting her grip on the knife and catching a glimpse of her reflection in the blade—she's a mess, cheeks flushed red and eyes glassy, her mouth slack from pleasure.

"I bet none of them ever wrecked you. I bet they never saw you like this," Ben pants, his fingers clenching roughly into the flesh of her ass as his thumb grazes the rim of her puckered hole. Rey gasps, her attention narrowing to a tunnel focused on the way he circles around the impossibly sensitive skin; she pushes back against him out of pure animal instinct, and feels his hips stutter in response.

Over her shoulder, Ben is starting to sound wrecked himself, the controlling growl slipping from his voice to reveal the underlying throb of lust. "I bet they were such cowards, they wouldn't even _dare_ to _—_ " The next time he thrusts, he pushes his thumb inside.

The knife clatters to the ground, and Rey makes a choked noise as she clenches around the sudden intrusion, and a whole new kind of arousal roars to life and sets her ablaze.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” Ben whispers desperately.

“I will _kill_ you if you stop,” Rey gasps back, and in response he increases his pace until she's nearly sobbing from overstimulation.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” His thumb feels enormous, rubbing against his cock in a way that makes Rey’s whole body go numb and hypersensitive at the same time. “Say it, Rey. _Say it._ ”

“Yes,” she almost cuts him off, the word exploding from her lungs. “Yes, _yes_ —”

In a moment of inspiration she grabs the removable shower head again, aiming it at the spot that sent her reeling before; the combination of sensations sends her over the edge so suddenly that she screams, primal and untamed, as her whole body seems to convulse at once. Rey completely loses track of Ben's existence, whiting out as she desperately scrambles to remember which way is up; her heart is beating so fast she's sure it'll skip over itself and crash to a halt. She's distantly aware of Ben's hips snapping sharply against hers, and his groan of pleasure as he comes.

“Rey, _fuck_ —”

He wraps his free hand around her shoulders and pulls her back to his chest, burying his face in her neck as he slows to a halt and gently withdraws his thumb. The sudden empty feeling robs the last of her strength and she sinks to the floor; Ben follows close behind, sitting back and pulling her into his lap, his cock still half-hard inside of her. She turns into his embrace, pulling him into a searing kiss; Ben wraps his arms around her, one hand curled around the back of her head, crushing her body to his possessively as his mouth opens under hers.

“You’re amazing,” Ben is whispering between kisses, combing his fingers through her hair. “You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”

This is far from the first time Rey’s heard that line; but it is the first time she’s ever actually believed it, and the realization strikes like lightning and just makes her kiss him harder, as if she could pull the words from his lips. Eventually they come up for air, gasping like teenagers in the back seat of a car.

"So," Ben says, his voice barely audible over the shower spray around them, "what if, instead of being celibate to the point of homicide, we try to strike a middle ground?"

She presses her forehead to his, her eyes nearly crossing to catch his gaze and her mouth twisted in a mischievous smile. "No."

_You can always say no._

Ben breaks into a sheepish grin. "Okay. Will you concede to no more sharp objects on slippery surfaces?"

Rey curls her arms around his neck. "I think I can work with that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Knife play, y'all! Also spanking, a little butt stuff, and blood play, specifically the paragraph that begins with "A primal screech flies out of her mouth", and ends with "You're ferocious today". It's a very small moment, but please heed your own comfort level. <3


	6. Five: The Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey has spent years compressing the ashes of her soul into impenetrable diamond shards, lashing out with jagged edges when all other attempts at communication fail. She assumed it was inevitable, this final descent into the feral space where love and hate feel exactly the same; but Ben is different. He defies her expectations at every turn, and it’s so much more thrilling than watching the light fade from a man’s eyes. What began as a blood fury eventually transforms into a different kind of desire; Rey finds that she stops planning Ben’s death with intricate detail and instead begins to fantasize about the way he murmurs praises in her ear for hours after their encounters, how he’ll comb his long fingers through her hair and run his fingers across every inch of her skin, stirring a golden feeling deep in her chest that she can’t bear to identify out loud but comes to crave nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sabbath of Sin, friends! Welcome to the softest chapter of sweet murder Rey's whole life. Warnings in the end notes, as usual, but nothing too outrageous this time. Please enjoy, and let me know if you did! <3

Somewhere along the line, a pattern emerges. First, there's a period of wedded bliss, where Rey plays the part of the dutiful wife and Ben dotes on her as every adoring husband should. Then there will be a change in the wind: a bad stretch of days at the office, or a disappointing run of sourdough, or merely the shift as their routine goes from novel to rote. When these clutches of boredom arise, Rey will strike: she'll bake sewing pins into a batch of chocolate chip cookies, or dose Ben's drink with the pure isopropyl alcohol that he keeps in the garage. These attempts are sloppy, obvious, designed to be detected so long as Ben manages to pay even a modicum of attention to the things she does for him. When he finds out, he punishes her: spanks her until she can't sit down, makes her clean the dining room while in the nude, fucks her mercilessly as she screams silently into the cloth he’s shoved into her mouth as a gag. But in between, the silences grow more companionable, and the machinations of life begin to feel less like a grind. It becomes easier to trust Ben about the little things in life—his promise to untangle the Christmas lights, or how he feels about her new buttercream recipe—when the boundaries of that trust have already been established at an extreme. Ben Solo may be a monster, but he's not a menace; it strikes Rey for the very first time that there might be a difference between the two.

Their conversations over dinner are always lively now, filled with jokes and arguments that Rey very often wins. When they emerge from their lair into the spectre of polite society, everything feels a hundred times easier; it's so much more _fun_ to fein that dreadful normalcy when Rey has Ben at her side, watching her every move, carrying the game far beyond the four walls of their home. At dinner parties and office soirees, Rey plays the perfect trophy on her successful husband's arm; outwardly she may be sipping a martini, but she truly subsists on the invisible morsels of adoration Ben provides—the little ways he'll stroke her hand or smile with a crinkle at the corner of his eye, silently telling her what a good girl she's being. And when she's had just about enough of being good, Rey will misbehave; but now these outbursts take the shape of witty interjections into a conversation about horse racing, or a confident proclamation of which candidate they plan to back for city council. These moments always draw stunned silence from the normal humans in their vicinity, as the rigid sarcophagus of social norms warps and wends against her outbursts; but no matter how cold the reception, Rey just keeps her eyes on her husband, daring Ben to admonish her in front of everyone, to be just like every other husband she's had—and he never, _ever_ takes the bait.

It's terrifying, and Rey can't stop thinking about it.

Their push and pull transforms slowly into a rhythm, like the ponderous swing of a churchtop bell. Rey watches herself descend into the darkness of fury over and over, and every time she repeats the cycle she finds that it's harder and harder to locate the thread of righteous anger that once drove her every waking move. As the nights shorten and cool, these cracks in her armour come to feel natural, as if they’ve always been there. It’s so much easier to breathe this way.

Rey has spent years compressing the ashes of her soul into impenetrable diamond shards, lashing out with jagged edges when all other attempts at communication fail. She assumed it was inevitable, this final descent into the feral space where love and hate feel exactly the same; but Ben is different. He defies her expectations at every turn, and it’s so much more thrilling than watching the light fade from a man’s eyes. What began as a blood fury eventually transforms into a different kind of desire; Rey finds that she stops planning Ben’s death with intricate detail and instead begins to fantasize about the way he murmurs praises in her ear for hours after their encounters, how he’ll comb his long fingers through her hair and run his hands across every inch of her skin, stirring a golden feeling deep in her chest that she can’t bear to identify out loud but comes to crave nonetheless. She’s used to being treated like an already-broken doll, something both impossibly fragile and simultaneously undeserving of gentleness; for a very long time, the crux of her murderous anger came from the desperation to be treated as one thing or the other, unable to endure the quiet agony of being suspended between too few and too many expectations. Rey’s previous husbands were brutish monsters until they realized she had the upper hand, and in their last moments of life they always crumpled into snivelling little cowards, begging for their lives from a being they hadn’t ever fathomed could cause them harm. But Ben is different; he meets her in the middle, matches her blow for blow, pushes her to new places where it becomes impossible to tell who’s supposed to be in charge. Ben doesn’t crumple; instead he adores her, worships her, kneels in awe of all that she can do—and in the fleeting moments of post-coital bliss, Rey lets herself believe every single word.

She knows, as sure as death and taxes, what’s going to happen next.

It’s a perfectly ordinary Sunday afternoon when Rey Solo does not try to kill her husband. Ben is in the study, reading at his desk, his empty coffee cup sitting neat on its saucer by his left wrist. He sees her enter the room immediately, his eyes flicking up from his book and watching her in silence as she stands at the doorway like a shy shadow.

“Rey,” he says, his voice a low rumble as his gaze flicks from one of her empty hands to the other—but this time she’s not hiding a weapon, and his brow momentarily furrows with confusion. “What are you up to, sweetheart?”

“I want—” the words get jammed up in her throat, and she falters like a deer caught in headlights. But as the blood drains from her face, Rey sees Ben smirk; he closes the book and sets it aside.

“What do you want?” he breathes, sitting back in his chair. “Are you going to tell me? Or perhaps I should guess.”

Rey crosses the room to the desk, where she reaches out for his coffee cup on pure instinct, jerking her hand back with an awkward movement that gives away even more of her unspeakable intentions. She isn’t here for the dishes.

Ben’s smirk twists, his eyes flashing with dark amusement. “Why don’t you get on your knees for me, while I think.” He cocks his eyebrow, daring Rey to resist.

But she obeys, kneeling primly in between his widespread feet, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat as she looks up at him. The desk lamp casts a dramatic shadow across Ben’s face, which seems even more intense from this angle; even leaning back in the chair, he still looms over her. Rey exhales, suddenly overcome by the terrifying realization of how much she trusts him, utterly and completely.

 _He’s different._ She bites back a smile before he sees.

Ben interlaces his long fingers together, his cock already rigid inside his pants as he looks down at her.

“Do you like being there, Rey? At my feet, waiting for my command?”

“Yes,” Rey answers, without thought or question. _Yes,_ she echoes mentally, hoping he can see it in her eyes too. _Yes. A hundred times, yes._

A shiver runs down her spine as she sees his cock twitch, and her hands ache to reach for his zipper. But Ben reaches down and catches her chin, tilting her face back up.

“What should I have you do first?” he musts, stroking up and down the line of her throat with one of his fingers. “Lick my boots, perhaps? Or maybe I’ll have you finger your ass open for me, and then I’ll bounce you on my cock until you’re screaming my name.”

Rey presses her thighs together at the thought. “Whatever my husband wants,” she whispers, privately laughing at the way his eyes momentarily widen in surprise. _Still underestimating me, Ben? Tsk tsk._

He leans forward until he completely blocks the desk lamp, plunging her into shadow. “Unzip me,” he growls, spreading his knees wider; Rey crawls forward to eagerly pull his cock out of his pants, her mouth literally watering at the sight of pre-come glistening at the tip.

She hears Ben laugh low in his chest. “You’re starving for it, aren’t you?”

 _Yes,_ she can’t bring herself to say, instead merely nodding as she swallows back the quailing realization that murder is no longer part of this game, and maybe never really was.

She snaps out of her reverie as Ben pushes his long fingers into her hair, grabbing her ponytail roughly in his hand. “Open your mouth,” he grunts, grabbing himself by the base and guiding her forward. Rey curls her lips over her teeth, lathing her tongue across the head of his cock as it slides past until her mouth meets his curled fist. She sucks him as hard as she can, looking up through her eyelashes as she does, her thighs pulsing with arousal when she sees the look on his face: possessive, wild, just barely dangerous enough.

“Relax your throat,” Ben chokes out, pulling his fist away to reveal the rest of him. “Find a good angle— _god_ —” he bites back the rest of his sentence as she takes his length deep into her throat, breathing heavily through her nostrils as she swallows him to the base. Rey feels Ben shudder, and hears the chair creak as he leans back and starts to thrust in short sharp movements.

“ _Mine,_ ” he whispers fervently, his hand tightening around her hair. “Do you know how often I want to fuck this pretty little mouth? Just throw you to your knees and shove my cock in and—” he pushes even further down the back of her throat, and Rey digs her fingers into the flesh of her legs and groans around him, her thighs already slick with arousal.

 _Use me,_ she thinks desperately, staring up at him like the submissive little trophy wife that she is, lost in the way he looks from this angle: eyes rolling back in his head, sweat collecting at his brow, his hips stuttering against her.

“I know you’ll take it,” he whispers, feverish and overcome. “You’ll do anything, won’t you? Anything to challenge me. Anything to be a brat. Anything to make me snap.”

A string of saliva escapes the corner of her mouth as Ben quickens the pace; he’s so thick that it makes her jaw ache, but Rey doesn’t want to stop; she wants to push him, wants him to push her back, wants to crawl into the warmth of his adoration and never come out again.

“I’m—” Ben gasps wide, his hand pulling at her hair as he comes in thick pulses down her throat; Rey swallows every drop, sucking him dry until he pulls her off, panting hard. She licks the last taste of salt from her lips, sitting back with a perfectly arranged expression as she admires her handiwork: Ben is flushed, his hand trembling as he pushes his dampened hair out of his face, exhaling through puffed cheeks as he fights to catch his breath.

“Wow,” he breathes, “Rey, that was…”

She closes her eyes, ready to bask in the afterglow, but it never comes; instead the light shifts again, and she opens her eyes to see Ben standing in front of her, his fly already zipped and his hand outstretched.

“Come with me,” he says. “We’re not done yet.”

Her heart plunges to her toes, but she doesn’t let her apprehension show; instead Rey lets him pull her to her feet and lead her up the stairs and into the bedroom.

“Take everything off,” he growls as soon as he’s closed the door. Rey strips, shivering as he presses methodical kisses to the line of her jaw and the pulse point behind her ears. “Good. Lie back against the pillows.”

She watches, prone, as Ben crosses to the closet, emerging a moment later with one of his best silk ties: sleek black, shot through with silver threads, with a tiny embroidered silver sword at the place where the fabric comes to a crisp point. He uses it to tie her wrists to the bedposts—a knot Rey could escape easily, but she has no intention of doing so. When he’s satisfied with his handiwork, Ben leans down to kiss her, straddling her hips and pushing her down against the mattress.

“Perfect little Rey,” he whispers against her lips. “You’ll get on your knees for me, but you won’t let me get on my knees for you. So curious.”

“It’s a woman’s rightful place,” Rey recites with a smirk. “The natural order of things.”

“How far will you go, before you break?” He’s hovering over her, hands pressed into the mattress on either side of her head, and he tilts his head like a properly inquisitive monster.

Rey knows they both know the answer. “Much farther than anyone thinks I can,” she replies in a whisper, flushing with pleasure and pride as the words leave her lips. Ben leans down and kisses her, long and soft and infused with meaning she can’t bring herself to name.

"I'm going to go down on you," he says when they part. "I want you to hold out as long as you can."

Rey's breath catches in her throat. "Ben…"

He tilts his forehead to hers, shifting his weight to cup her cheek in one hand, his thumb brushing across her skin with gentle reverence. "Try," he whispers, his voice thick. "For me, Rey. Please try."

She can't resist the ache in his voice, and nods in a tiny movement. Then Ben's weight and warmth shift away, and she shivers as he begins to kiss down the length of her body, mouthing _my good girl_ over and over against her flesh. Her breath escapes short and she arches her hips up into him; he nips at the skin of her hipbone in response, his tongue inching closer and closer to the apex of her legs.

This time, when he presses his mouth to her, Rey refuses to flinch. The tangle of tension in her mind squeezes tight, making everything seem cramped and claustrophobic, but she takes one deep breath after another until one of the knots seems to loosen its grip, giving her just enough room to settle. In this curious new space, she finds that it's not unpleasant, what Ben's doing; the wet warmth of his mouth feels as strange as ever, but there's something about the way his tongue swirls at her clit that makes Rey clench her fists tight around the silk tie. When he ducks his head to thrust his tongue inside her, she cries out before she can stop herself, throwing her head back against the pillow as his strokes reach deeper than she imagined possible—and yet nowhere deep enough to touch the parts of her that are starting to beg to be touched.

As if he can read her mind, Ben pulls back, returning his tongue to her clit and pushing two fingers inside her instead, curling them inwards and pressing against the spot that always undoes her. His tongue increases its pace, working in frantic rhythm with his hand, and the coil of Rey's arousal winds tighter and tighter. She realizes she's panting for air, and squeezes her eyes shut as a cool sheen of sweat breaks out at her collar. Ben makes a muffled sound into her folds and she whimpers, shivering at how cold it feels without his weight full on top of her, suddenly conscious of the _tick, tick, tick_ from the clock on the wall.

 _How long has it been?_ she can't help but wonder. _Is he bored? Is that why he groaned? Is he waiting for me? I can't, Ben, I—_

“Stop,” she whispers.

Ben instantly pulls away, and Rey furrows her brow at the sudden sense of emptiness and cold; she barely has time to register the feeling as _loss_ before he unties her wrists and pulls her securely to his chest.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, smoothing her hair with one of his hands. "You did so good, sweetheart. You were perfect." He leans in to kiss her, but Rey pulls back.

"Don't…" she glances down at his lips. "Don’t you want to go brush your teeth?"

Ben furrows his brow, scrubbing his hand over his mouth, his skin still glistening from her. "Do you want me to?"

Rey searches his face but can't find a single hint of sarcasm, and it's so unnerving that she closes her eyes, curling her hand around the back of his neck and pulling his forehead to hers. She hears him inhale sharply, his fingernails digging momentarily into her flesh.

"I'd like to kill everyone who ever made you feel so terrible about your own body," he whispers.

"You'd have to go back a very long time," Rey replies just as softly, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter as she feels words come loose from her chest like long-congealed phlegm. “Even when I was young, it was just…we were told how childbirth worked, the mechanics of it all, and that—" she huffs. "The nuns told us that women used to use Lysol, down there. To…eliminate odours."

"You're kidding."

Rey shakes her head. “It's true. Thankfully everyone eventually figured out that it wasn't healthy, but…" she shrugs. "I clean the house with Lysol every single day, and every time I look at the label, I think about that. How every woman learns to hate herself just enough to survive.”

"Christ," Ben exhales. "I'm sorry."

She watches the dust dancing through a sunbeam overhead. "Don't you ever wonder how the rest of them can stand it?" she murmurs. "Don and Betty, Ingrid, Pete, all the others? They just seem so…miserable. They don't ever seem to grasp just how empty it all is."

He nods against her. "I thought I was the only one."

Rey meets his eyes again. "Everyone's always acted like I was a monster for wanting anything more than what I got. After four husbands, it—it seemed obvious that there was something wrong with me. Maybe several things."

Ben snorts, the sun beaming down on his face as he nuzzles against her. "I think you're perfect," he murmurs, kissing at her cheeks as they burn hot. "I wish you could see how incredible you are."

Now the earnestness in his face doesn't seem quite as strange, and Rey reaches up and traces her fingers across the skin of his brow, the ridge of his nose, the sculpted perfection of his mouth; the lump in her throat hardens and hardens until finally it unfurls into words that slip out of her mouth like ribbons.

"I've never—" she swallows. "With the others. With _anyone_. I've never felt…safe. They promised to protect me and honour me. I wanted to prove myself worthy, to give them everything they wanted, and—it was never enough. I did everything I could to be a good wife, and they just…" she falters, paralyzed by the tender golden blush of warmth that spreads through her chest when she sees the way he looks at her. "But—I—with you, I…"

Ben's eyes flutter shut. “Rey…”

“I…don’t want to hurt you,” she says, just barely above a whisper.

He makes a strangled noise and closes the space between them in a single swift move; Rey gasps, intoxicated by the taste of herself on his lips, and a keening moan escapes her throat as she pulls him closer, desperate to be held. Ben responds enthusiastically, and she can feel him harden again as the kiss deepens; she shudders as their hips begin to grind together rhythmically, her hands fumbling at the buttons of his shirt.

"Say it again," Ben begs between kisses, momentarily awkward as he pulls his arms out of the sleeves.

"I don’t want to hurt you," Rey whispers, her hands roaming over the lines of his bare muscles as if feeling them for the very first time. She unfastens his pants and pushes them down as far as she can reach, and Ben pulls away with a reluctant huff so that he can kick them off entirely. As soon as he's between her legs again, Rey reaches down and guides him inside her with one single motion; his head drops to her shoulder, his breath exploding out of him sharply as she angles her body to bury him to the hilt.

"Again," Ben rasps, rolling his hips slow and hard. " _Please_."

Rey arches up into him as his cock pushes even deeper inside her, her legs wrapping tight around his waist. "I don’t want to hurt you," she breathes, the words dissolving into a sigh as his lips find hers once more. In between kisses she sets a rhythm with her body that Ben rushes to match, and as they fall into sync the bedposts rattle against the wall hard enough to leave dents. The world slides sideways and begins to melt into mere flashes of sensation: the sound of their panting breaths, the sun gleaming on the sheen of sweat across his back, the slick under her fingers as she brings herself to climax with a shuddering cry. Rey feels Ben come as she clenches around him, his hips jolting sharply as he buries his face into her neck to mask a whimper that resembles her name. It all seems to last for eternity and an instant as they lie tangled together, fighting for breath, clinging to the final shreds of shared ecstasy even as they inevitably float back down to earth. At some point Ben slips out of her, but they remain wrapped in each others' arms, breathing and breathing and breathing, as if any sudden movement would shatter the afternoon sunbeams into sharp pieces across the floor. Rey holds on to him for dear life, closing her eyes against the undeniable fact that her armour has dissolved to dust, and distantly registers that for the very first time she thinks she feels free.

Finally she finds language again, scrubbing her hand across her face. "Well," she exhales, her voice hoarse from orgasm. "What now?"

Ben grins, leaning down to brush an impossibly soft kiss against her lips. “I think I'm going to push you until you're just about to break, and then you're going to show me how strong you truly are," he growls, his eyes glinting wild and dark. "Do you think you can handle that?"

Rey leans forward and bites at his bottom lip. "Break me, Ben," she whispers, raking her fingernails hard across his back. "I fucking _dare_ you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: submissiveness, blow jobs, cunnilingus, and some talk of shame and self-loathing. Mention of the fact that women used to use Lysol as a douche, but Rey never actually did this herself.


	7. Six: The River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey returns to the kitchen and arranges a platter with her delicate candied pecan macarons, along with half a dozen pieces of banana bread and a handful of earl gray shortbread cookies. The boys crow with delight when she presents them with the spread, diving in like wolves on prey—all except Ben, who remains in his chair and sips his drink, his eyes never leaving her face. They have a full conversation in a handful of heartbeats, the silence punctuated with little moans of pleasure from the boys as they murmur about how delicious everything is.  
>  _I haven't poisoned any of it,_ Rey imagines saying, her eyebrow raising precisely half an inch.  
> Ben echoes the expression. _Is that so?_  
>  She lets a smile tug at the corner of her lip. _Guess we'll have to find out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Apologies for the delay in this chapter, and thank you all for your patience. I am pleased to present the climax (heh) of this fic; it's technically the final chapter, and next week's update will be an epilogue. Content warnings in the end notes, but nothing too outlandish. Enjoy ;-)

The very next week, Ben walks in the door with three of his coworkers, the glint in his eyes like obsidian; Rey gives a nigh-imperceptible nod as the men all shed their coats and hats, and in response Ben's right eye twitches in the barest shadow of a wink. He breaks into a sly grin.

"Pete, Don, Roger—you remember my wife, Rey."

He doesn't ask her the same, because he knows she hasn't forgotten. The presence of these men—Roger, especially—should feel like a direct threat; Ben's tolerance of them should be a _de facto_ endorsement of their behaviour, a move against her in the endless game of a marriage. But that's not the way the game works anymore.

Rey puts on her most charming smile: bright, prim, proper, perfect. She watches the way their eyes all flick—first up, then down, then reluctantly back to her face—and bites at the edge of her cheek as she sees Ben's eyes darken possessively behind their backs. She can imagine what he'd say, if they were alone: _you belong to me._ Buoyed by that reminder, she tilts her face and lets Roger plant a kiss on her cheek, which leaves a wet spot that she resists wiping away.

"How nice to see you again, boys," she says warmly, even as she imagines stabbing needles into all their eyes. "Have you eaten? I was making gnocchi—"

"—We ate at the office," Ben cuts her off. Rey's jaw snaps shut automatically, and she grits her teeth as she swallows her protests. She worked for _hours_ on those gnocchi.

But Ben knows that. Thursday night is always pasta night; she was scrubbing the potatoes when he left for work this morning. And sure enough, he's watching her, with a look in his eyes that dares her to complain.

Once upon a time, this kind of behaviour would spark Rey's fury; now it sets things to a smoulder, warm and smoky and lustful, and she holds her head high.

"More for tomorrow, then!" she gushes, sugar-sweet. "How do you boys feel about cake? Perhaps a macaron?"

"Actually, can you point the way to the garage? We thought we'd play a few rounds of poker," Pete says with a shit-eating grin. "Ben and Roger have both said some things that they can't take back, so now it's time to put up or shut up."

"Is that so?" Rey purses her lips, putting her hands on her waist and fixing them with the cutesiest display of faux disapproval she can stomach.

"That's right, Mrs. Solo," Roger drawls at her, and something stirs in the deep recesses of her mind: _he looks so familiar._

Ben slides past Roger and bends to kiss the corner of her mouth. "Would you mix us some drinks?" he murmurs, as his hand slides across her ass, obscured by the shadow of the staircase and Rey's wide skirt, and pinches lasciviously.

Their eyes meet, and an entire silent conversation is exchanged in a flash: permission sought and granted, love declared and echoed, a cocoon of trust spun up to bind and embrace them both.

"Of course," Rey chirps, her heart fluttering like a starling caught in a giant's fist. She feels all the men's eyes on her as she walks away, her dress swishing against her bare legs and her toes clenched inside her bright red heels.

At the bar, Rey puts four rocks glasses on the sterling silver tray that Roger and his wife got them for a wedding gift. Then she fixes four perfect Old-Fashioneds: counting just enough drops of the Angostura to soak the sugar, cutting the edge with the barest bit of water before adding ice, twisting the orange peels until their essential oils burst out and dropping them to drown in the whiskey.

When she returns to the living room, Rey blinks at the sudden sting of cigar smoke in the air, and it takes a moment to realize that the coffee table has been shoved out of the way, gouching scratches in her beautiful parquet floor. Don and Roger have hauled the full-size poker table out of the garage, and someone has turned off the overhead lights, leaving just the table lamps to illuminate the game.

Rey rolls her eyes with a small smile. _And they call women dramatic._

Ben is sitting at the far end of the table in his usual wing-backed armchair; Don is in the other wing-back chair immediately to Ben's left, and Pete has pulled up the piano stool across from Don. Roger sits across from Ben, perched on a dining room chair that's been awkwardly wedged between the couch and the poker table. Rey can see his shoulders already curling, the muscles beneath his shirt tense like a big cat preparing to pounce.

"Big blind is a hundred, buckos," Don announces with a grin as he shuffles a pack of cards. "Let's dance." He flashes Rey a smile of too-white teeth as he accepts his drink.

"Your husband is a confident man, Rey," Roger says, following her with his gaze as she circles the table.

"Oh?" Rey sets a drink down at Ben's left hand and leans over to brush a kiss against his brow without smudging her lipstick.

"He's certainly a paragon of sticking to his convictions," Pete chimes in, taking his cocktail with a nod in Rey's direction.

"Well, we'll see about that," Roger smirks, all but snatching his glass from the tray. "Don, deal us out. Solo, you better have cash on hand."

Rey turns to Ben. "Darling?"

"We'll let you know if we need anything," Ben replies without looking at her, taking his cards. "Thanks, sweetheart."

She returns to the kitchen and stands in the dark, frozen as she listens to the men begin their game, overcome with apprehension because it all seems far too easy. A poker game with the boys isn't much of a test; it's not like Ben's going to demand that she debase herself while also fixing drinks and snacks for the next several hours. They've pushed a lot of boundaries, but the game has always been strictly between the two of them; spectators aren't supposed to be part of the equation.

The lazily burning sense of desire sparks a sudden jolt of doubt, a flash of an alternate universe where everything looks the same but is also a hundred times worse, and where Ben really has ruined her dinner and upended her evening and forced her to entertain people he knows she hates.

Rey sets her jaw. Ben must know what he's doing; he wouldn't bring the wolves home unless he was sure of who would devour whom. _Right?_

"Rey!" Ben calls, snapping her from her reverie. She was sure she only blacked out for a handful of seconds, but when she returns to the living room she finds it all but enveloped in a haze of cigar smoke. Each of the men has a small pile of bills and poker chips in front of them; Don's pile includes a gaudy gold-plated wristwatch. Their drinks are all empty.

"Settle a bet for us, would you, darlin'?" Don drawls as she begins to gather the glasses. "Now, be honest: do you ladies, you know…sync up?" he waggles his eyebrows, and Pete snorts with laughter behind his hand.

It's enough to send her reeling, but Rey just responds with a simpering giggle. "Oh, now, you know all women have our secrets," she replies, coming to stand at Ben's side. "It wouldn't be polite to discuss such a thing in mixed company. Why don't you ask your wife?"

Ben grins with a flash of his incisors. "See? Told you. Rey always knows the right thing to say," he smirks, downing the rest of his drink and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before holding out the glass to her. A spark jumps between their fingertips as they touch.

"Would you like another?" she asks, right on cue.

"Martini this time," Ben orders, as if they've rehearsed this little play. "Two olives. You know how I like it."

"Yes, darling," she coos, playing the part to absolute perfection. As she walks away, Rey hears Pete snicker something about _quite a catch_ and _wish I'd moved on her first_ , and the coil in her stomach tightens as she imagines Ben's expression: how his brow must furrow, just for a moment, his lips twitching in a scowl as he suppresses the urge to remind Pete and the whole rest of the world: _she belongs to me._

"I could just take care of him," Rey whispers to herself as she stands at the bar, picking up the little vial of arsenic she keeps just behind the sweet vermouth. Her nails click on the crystal, and she runs her thumb around the neck of the bottle, uncorking it just for a moment to catch a whiff of its subtle scent—just barely above neutral, nothing much more than a bitter tang at the back of your throat that doesn't register as poison until it's far too late.

A bark of laughter floats in from the den, and Rey straightens. She's completely out of his sight, but she can still feel Ben's eyes on the back of her neck, watching and waiting. _Be a good girl, Rey._

She exhales, capping the arsenic with its little crystal stopper and mixing up some dirty martinis, each glass capped with two olives neatly skewered on wooden toothpicks.

When Rey returns to distribute the martinis, she uses the smoke as a cover to reach for Ben's shoulder and grip it tight, suddenly desperate for reassurance in a way that feels far too much like groveling. Ben just takes a sip of his martini, his eyes fixed on his cards—a red queen and a black king—even as she feels his other hand creep up her bare leg, hidden from view beneath her skirt.

Pete sets his martini glass down a little too hard, sloshing gin all across the felt. "Hey, Rey," he slurs. "How'd you get a bum like Solo here to marry you?"

Rey makes a show of mussing Ben's hair, even as her attention narrows to hyperfocus on his thick fingers as they skim gently past her inner thigh to hook into the hem of her undergarments.

"I don't know!" she coos. "Just lucky, I guess."

As the boys laugh, she feels Ben give the fabric two distinct tugs before letting go, his fingernail barely grazing her folds as he does. It's a clear signal: _get these off._

"Luck is a funny thing," Roger muses, shuffling the cards with his scrawny hands. Another flash of dread comes and goes, too quick to identify anything but a lingering sense of danger and bizarre _deja vu_.

"You're just saying that because you're losing," Ben smirks. "And if you're hoping her luck will rub off on you, don't bother; she's not that kind of charm."

There's a stretch of silence, the tension as thick as the cigar smoke, before Roger tosses a handful of poker chips into the middle of the table and sits back.

"Well, then maybe she can do us a favour and fetch some of those cookies, hmm?" his gaze slides her way. "Ben is just _adamant_ that you're the best little baker of all the wives at the firm."

Rey feels a burst of fury at the thought of her beautiful macarons being devoured by such a piggish man, but she can feel Ben watching her, and she'd sooner light herself on fire than let him see her break. So she clenches her thighs together, thankful for the wide twirl of her dress, and nods; as soon as she's out of sight she veers into the hallway bathroom, where she shimmies out of her underwear, balling the fabric up and stashing it behind the box of feminine paper she keeps in the vanity—the one place none of the boys would ever snoop.

_Though they're probably too intimidated by Ben to do something like that,_ Rey thinks, smirking as she checks her lipstick in the mirror. _They all think Ben's pulling their leg, but he's right: I am the best of all their wives. I'm the best of all of them, period._

She could slip bleach into their next round of drinks. They'd probably be too busy stuffing their faces to notice.

But instead Rey returns to the kitchen and arranges a platter with her delicate candied pecan macarons, along with half a dozen pieces of banana bread and a handful of earl gray shortbread cookies. The boys crow with delight when she presents them with the spread, diving in like wolves on prey—all except Ben, who remains in his chair and sips his drink, his eyes never leaving her face. They have a full conversation in a handful of heartbeats, the silence punctuated with little moans of pleasure from the boys as they murmur about how delicious everything is.

_I haven't poisoned any of it,_ Rey imagines saying, her eyebrow raising precisely half an inch.

Ben echoes the expression. _Is that so?_

She lets a smile tug at the corner of her lip. _Guess we'll have to find out._

"Have you ever played poker, Rey?" Roger asks, his eyes narrowing behind the rim of his martini glass. He tosses his head back to drain it before she can answer.

"I don't believe I have," Rey lies.

"Oh, it's not that hard," Ben purrs, "I mean, _you_ figured it out, Rog."

The boys all laugh, spewing cigar smoke that makes the room even hazier.

"Yes, we've all heard so much about how smart you are," Roger sneers, holding out his glass to her expectantly. "Try not to drown it this time, _sweetheart_."

_Only Ben gets to call me that._ As she takes the glass, Rey loses herself in a momentary fantasy of how beautiful her pearl-handled knife would look buried to the hilt in Roger's throat. _That'd shut you up for good._

This time Rey keeps the sweet vermouth out of her field of view, pretending it isn't there as she shakes and stirs the liquor; if she picks up the arsenic bottle, she knows she'll use it. As fun as it would be to ensure that Roger never got to call her _sweetheart_ again, it's even more fun to prove to Ben that she can take everything he throws at her and never waver an inch.

She fixes Roger's drink, keeping it extra dry, and mixes up an extra-large martini for herself: ice cold Bombay Sapphire gin, three olives, and a mere hint of vermouth kissing the inside of the glass. When Rey returns to the living room, the air is even thicker than before, the ashtray half full already. She can see the razor-precise hairline at the back of Roger's neck, and wonders if he trusts his wife to keep it neat for him. If it were Rey standing there with a straight razor, the outcome would be obvious.

Roger gives no indication that he notices the drink that she deposits at his left hand. "Solo, I swear to Christ, you're so arrogant I'm shocked Snoke hasn't plucked you for the C-suite yet," he bristles. Rey can't help but notice that his pile of cash is smaller than Ben's, and she lets herself feel a burst of pride at the situation.

Ben smirks. "Who says he hasn't asked?" he retorts, his gaze sliding to Rey. "Sweetheart! Why don't you come sit on my lap, and we'll play a little poker."

The pet name makes her tremble, but Rey keeps her drink perfectly steady as she approaches. When Ben shifts back in his armchair, she sees the faint outline of his cock, pulled out of his pants and rock hard. She looks up to meet his eyes, and a blaze of arousal roars through her veins when she sees the expression on his face; then she smirks, putting her drink down on a coaster nearby.

_Game on._

His arm circles her waist in a firm grip as Rey sits down, guiding her into place; she effortlessly arranges her wide skirt so as to provide the access he's silently demanding, the fabric draping like a curtain around their legs.

"There's a good girl," Ben growls, just loudly enough for her to hear, his teeth grazing her earlobe.

Rey's heart is in her throat as she lowers herself smoothly onto him, and she suppresses a shudder at the sensation of his cock deep inside of her. She faintly hears Pete and Roger's voices as they toss some unparsed joke in Ben's direction, and she exhales as his chuckling response reverberates through her entire body. His arm tightens around her waist, pulling her hips closer against his; Rey's fingers dig desperately into the fabric of his trousers, her eyes fluttering shut so the boys don't see them rolling back in her head from pleasure.

"Now," Ben says, jolting her back into focus. "The game is Texas Hold 'Em. Don here is the dealer next round. Why don't you hold my cards?"

Across the table, Roger never takes his eyes off of Ben, and Rey by extension. "You sure you want to do that, Solo?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow. "This is a man's game."

Rey feels, rather than hears, the sly chuckle Ben gives in response. "I'm sure she can handle herself. You're the little blind this round, unless you want to fold right away."

The muscle in Roger's jaw twitches, and for a blazing moment he looks exactly like her other husbands: a monster, a menace, the very worst kind of man. Then he shoves two chips into the center of the table. "Two hundred. Pete?"

With a sigh Pete drops four chips in front of his drink. "The missus is gonna kill me when there's no cash left for the Bahamas, she's dying to go once she loses the baby weight."

"Well, maybe you'll get lucky," Don smirks. "Ben?"

Ben leans forward to look at his pile of cash and chips; at the same time he gives a slow roll of his hips, and Rey fights to swallow the moan clawing its way up her throat.

"I think we can call on four hundred, can't we, sweetheart?" he nips at her earlobe, sending goosebumps rippling up and down her forearms.

"You're the one who manages the budget," Rey demurs, which draws uproarious laughter from the other men.

"God damn, you might be right, Solo," Don shakes his head. "Betty won't stop talking about managing the money _as a partnership_ , it's such fucking bullshit."

Rey picks up five chips and tosses them into the middle of the table. "For your wife's vacation fund, Pete," she says, making the boys laugh even harder.

"Sure, why not," Don snorts, throwing some chips and a handful of bills into the pile. "Rog? You gonna call?"

Roger rolls his eyes and throws three more chips across the felt, snickering as Pete raps on the table with his knuckles. "Pete, you cowardly little shit. Okay, let's get this show on the road."

Don deals out two cards to each of them, cocking an eyebrow when he places the second one down in front of Rey.

"Should I deal you out separately, Solo?"

Rey feels Ben sit up straighter in his chair, pulling her even closer to him, and his cock brushes against her inner walls such that stars burst across her vision.

"Oh, I think I'll let my better half handle this round," he purrs, rolling in short little thrusts that take her breath away and make it all but impossible to regain.

"You sure about that?" Roger says as he peeks at his cards. He peels off a few more bills from his pot and slides them into the middle of the table. "Raise, another five."

All eyes slide to Pete, who checks his cards again and blows out air through pursed lips. "Too rich for my blood," he sighs, flicking the cards away.

"Back to you," Don says to Rey. "Are you going to raise or call?"

"Why are you asking _her_?" Roger snipes. "Solo's the brains of the operation, he'll just tell her what to do anyway."

Don snorts, his face barely visible through the gloomy haze. “Betty can’t even figure out Go Fish.”

At this, Pete nearly howls with laughter, his martini sloshing over to stain the green felt tabletop. “Oh, when Rey was a temp she could barely alphabetize the memos, I remember back when—”

“—Pete.” Ben’s voice booms out in a warning tone, and the whole room goes still. All eyes are on them now; Rey’s thighs are trembling so hard that her heels make tiny little clicking sounds on the floor like chattering teeth. Her eyes dart around as she sees the intimidation that puckers Pete’s mouth closed, the flash of insecurity as he is suddenly put in his place, and the way Don and Roger both reflexively duck their heads in tacit submission in order to avoid being the next target of ire or ridicule. That’s just how powerful Ben is: he has these men positively quivering in their dress shoes, and all it took was one word—a single syllable, no less. Rey thinks of all those stories he’s told about lunches at the company gym, and she wonders if the boys have seen Ben nude, if they bow to him now because they know he’s bigger and better than they are.

_I bet you have,_ she smirks to herself as she rides Ben's cock under the table, rocking her hips in little movements, watching as Pete exhales a thin stream of cigarette smoke through clenched teeth. _I bet you’ve snapped awake in the night dreaming of how he’d fuck you. Laid awake beside your wife, hard and panting, terrified of how much you want him. But now he’s mine, Pete. Too bad you didn’t move first._

"Tell you what, Rog, I'll go completely hands off," Ben finally says, as his fingers bite into the flesh of her thighs under the table. "Rey, you're in charge. Bet whatever your little heart desires."

With four pairs of eyes watching her, Rey lifts the corners of her cards and sees a jack and queen of hearts. Ben must see them at the same moment, because he thrusts up into her, sharp and sudden, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek until she tastes copper.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" Roger slurs.

Rey manages to gather her expression into a cheery smile by sheer muscle memory alone, her breath hitching as Ben continues teasing her. She clenches around him, aching with arousal.

"Not at all," she finally replies, reaching for her drink and taking a dainty sip. "What do we need to stay in the round? Another five hundred?" She doesn't wait for them to nod before she plucks the equivalent amount of chips off of Ben's pile and drops them in a dainty stack.

"Gonna bet on those smarts, huh?" Don grins, tossing his chips into the pot.

"Who, Rey?" Ben reaches around Rey for her drink, his cock pushing even deeper inside as he shifts her weight in his lap. He takes a sip, his Adam's apple bobbing right by her ear.

"Yeah, me," she says with a playful smirk, taking the martini glass and setting it back on the table. Ben reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, pushing up into her in a long slow movement just as their gazes meet. Rey sees his eyes spark with pride and worshipful joy at the mere fact of her existence, and she very nearly comes undone, held back from the rush by a razor's edge.

"Oh, Rey's brilliant," Ben breathes, as his attention slides to his friends and his lips twitch into an arrogant smirk. "She's read all the books in my study. Haven't you, sweetheart?"

_Yes,_ she could say. _I've read_ Casino Royale _enough times to know that you idiots are burning two cards at the start of every other round for no discernible reason._

_Yes,_ she could say. _I've memorized the locations of all the major arteries on the human body, and my knives are incredibly sharp. You'd never even see it coming._

"Just to look at the pictures," she coos instead, and as the boys dissolve into uproarious laughter she feels Ben's teeth graze the back of her neck.

"Good girl," he mouths into her skin, and with a jolt Rey remembers that they're on the same team. Pleasure builds in fits and starts as the coil of her arousal winds microscopically tighter; her free hand slips below the table, pressing desperate fingers against her clit through her dress, but Ben gives a sharp thrust as a warning: _I haven't given you permission._

Rey clamps her mouth shut around a frustrated moan as she pulls her hand away, grabbing a fistful of her skirt instead and holding on for dear life.

"Rey." Ben's voice vibrates deep in his chest as it presses against her back. "Something on your mind?"

She manages to shake her head. "Nothing at all," she chirps, a perfect fluttering little bird.

While she's been desperately trying to regain her breath, Don has dealt the flop cards out onto the field: jack of clubs, two of hearts, and five of diamonds. With a huff he raps his knuckles on the table and glances over at Roger, who's eyeing the spread like a sniper taking aim.

"A thousand," he says calmly, placing his bet in front of him, before looking up at Ben—not Rey.

_This is personal,_ she realizes. _You don't like me, Roger, but you_ really _don't like Ben. That's interesting._

"We can afford another thousand," Ben is crooning in her ear, even as his ministrations intensify. His control is absolutely incredible, his upper body remaining almost perfectly motionless even as his hips roll in a merciless rhythm; Rey clenches her thighs tightly together, making every thrust an effort for him, just to be a brat.

"Then I call," she says smoothly, pushing the chips forward while pushing back against Ben as hard as she possibly can.

Don whistles low, flipping his cards over. "Fold," he exhales.

"And then there were three," Pete snorts, draining the last of his martini. "Or two. Whatever."

"This is Rey's hand," Ben says crookedly. "I'm just enjoying the ride. So to speak."

This elicits chuckles from Don and Pete, but Roger's glare just intensifies, and Rey feels her left eye twitch.

"I don't understand you, Solo," he growls. "And I especially don't understand why you make decisions that are the opposite of your best interest. You turned down a promotion from Snoke; you didn't try to take my job during that lawsuit last year; you married someone who can't give you children." He eats an olive as his gaze shifts to Rey. "No offense, sweetheart."

"None taken," Rey replies, sucking one of her olives off the stick with a little _pop_. Ben has slowed his thrusting; the hand at her waist loosens and drops to her lap, his fingers grabbing the flesh of her thigh hard enough to bruise. Rey feels her cheeks burn at the thought of seeing the mark in the bath tomorrow—little reminders of his insatiable desire, destined to fade just in time for her to beg for new ones.

"Tell me, Rey," Roger says, "what was your first husband like?"

The air in the room drops ten degrees, and Ben abruptly stops moving.

"Watch what you say in my house, Roger." Ben's tone absolutely deadly. "I told you—"

"—It's fine," Rey cuts him off as her blood goes cold, and she takes another long sip of her martini. "Roger, my first husband was a very successful man; he was well-loved by everyone who knew him, and he had a razor-sharp mind." She leans forward, daintily resting her chin on her steepled fingers. "He reminded me a lot of you, actually,"

She meets his gaze and holds it; in her periphery, Rey sees Don burn the next card, and then turn the queen of diamonds out onto the spread.

"Raise," Roger snaps immediately, shoving money forward as his eyes flick up to Rey. " _Five_ thousand."

Pete rocks back from the table, air whistling through his teeth; Don chokes on his drink as he bursts out laughing.

"Oh, come on, Roger, there's no need to go _there_."

"I'm perfectly entitled to go wherever I goddamn want," Roger snarls. "Now it's up to Rey to make the decisions to which _she_ is entitled. Unless Solo is ready to drop all the pretense and actually prove himself."

_Hang on a second—_

"What are you going to do, sweetheart?" Ben asks in a growl behind her, his voice tinged with a sneering condescension that makes her blood go cold, even as she realizes that Roger the true target of his ire.

"I don't know," she murmurs, stalling as calculations begin to whir together in her mind. "What happens if we can't beat that?"

"Then you fold," Roger answers before Ben can speak, covering the abruptness of the outburst with a sip of his martini.

"Well, not necessarily," Pete jumps in. "She could bluff, if she's any good as a liar. Most women aren't."

Ben chuckles. "Oh, Rey can tell when a man's bluffing. Can't you, sweetheart? Roger here is no match for you; otherwise I'd still be playing him."

_Oh._

Rey's arousal vanishes in an instant as the full picture takes shape in her mind. Suddenly she sees herself on the game board, simultaneously pawn and player; her fury ignites instantaneously and she literally sees red, so angry that she all but forgets Ben's cock inside of her.

He promised he would test her, and she has to grant him this: it's one hell of a test. But that doesn't mean she isn't utterly fucking pissed.

For a moment, she fantasizes about teeth sinking into flesh, of hands snaking around throats, of playing at surrender until the very last minute, of the way everything falls silent as the tables turn. For just a moment, she imagines making all of them bleed.

"Call and raise," she says. "Ten thousand." It doesn't even occur to her to be shocked that Ben has that much on hand, with more to spare; she pushes the tower of chips forward, only to jolt as he pulls her roughly back to his lap, hiking up her skirt and grazing his thumb across her clit, sending a shock of pleasure through her whole body.

Roger's tongue moves across his teeth, and he taps his index finger rapidly against his cards, his eyes darting between the pot and his dwindling pile of chips and cash. "Fifteen," he eventually says as he counts out the chips, stacking up all but his last two bills and pushing the entire pile into the middle of the table. He looks at Ben this time, the expression on his face as clear as a children's picture book: _enough with this wife nonsense._

Rey is many things, but she is not and never will be _nonsense_. Ben must be thinking the same thing, because his thrusts get faster and his hips begin to tremble—a sign that he's close to his own release. She smirks.

"All in," she says, pulling out of Ben's grip to shove the pile of chips forward, spilling them across the felt. Ben freezes, his cock slipping half out of her; Pete chokes on his drink, while Don sits forward, steepled fingers pressed against his lips. Roger doesn't move, but his tapping gets a little more frantic.

"Solo, you should tap out now," he snarls. "This little pissing game is one thing, but are you seriously going to let her ruin you just to fuck with me?"

_He knows,_ Rey thinks. _He's known this whole time. Ben has betrayed me to this craven man._

Some rational part of her mind knows it's not true, but the mere suspicion is enough to spark the fire. Rey grins with all of her teeth.

"Are you in or out, Roger?" she drawls, and in frenzied revenge Ben thrusts so deep inside of her that she can't help the shiver that runs up her spine. His hand returns to her clit, rougher this time as he pushes the folds of skin aside to stroke at the most sensitive nerves. Rey's legs shake from the overstimulation, but she keeps her hands steady, steeling herself against his frenetic movements. There's only so far he can go without making things truly obvious, and he won't cross that boundary; this means too much to him. The realization gives Rey a rush of exhilaration that is _almost_ more thrilling than murder.

Roger throws the last of his bills into the pot. "Fine," he hisses. "Don, turn out the river."

The last card on the spread is the queen of clubs. Rey watches Roger's eyes light up with cruel and unrelenting glee.

"Check." He knocks on the table, sharp and loud.

Rey takes another look at her cards. "I raise," she grins.

"With what?" Roger retorts, unable to hide his smarmy grin. "You're all in already, sweetheart."

"The Cadillac," she replies. "I know where we keep the deed."

Ben's ministrations intensify, but Rey barely feels him. He's no longer relevant.

Roger cocks an eyebrow. "I'm not betting my car," he says. "This is ridiculous. Just show your cards."

Rey makes a _tsk tsk_ sound. "That bad of a hand, huh?"

Don and Pete burst out laughing; Roger looks like he might burst into flames at any moment.

"Fuck you," he spits. "Fine. You want my car? You can have it." He digs his keys out of his pocket and tosses them onto the table. "Now, I—"

"—Wait," Rey shakes her head. "I raise. The deed to the house."

Pete howls with laughter, a line of spittle suspended between his top and bottom lip; Don is wiping at his eyes.

"Ben, you married a joker," he chuckles. "What a little brat."

"Yeah, I sure did," Ben grunts, pinching at her clit, and Rey has to choke back a strangled desperate noise, slamming her hand on the felt table as she does; the sound makes the men jump, startling them into silence.

"Tell you what," she exhales, rolling her hips and riding Ben's cock with slow methodical movements. "Bet your job."

Roger snorts. "Excuse me?"

"And your nice little office, on whatever fucking floor you've been infesting," Rey runs her tongue across the line of her top teeth. "That seems more than a fair trade."

_Come into my mouth, little fish,_ she thinks, watching Roger's eyes dart back and forth between his cards and hers.

"Rey," Ben's voice comes from behind her, tinged with the most delicious tone of fear she's ever heard, and in response she rolls her hips again, her smirk widening as he's forced to bite back a whimper.

"I'll allow it," Don says, cracking his knuckles. "I'm the boss, I could have the paperwork drawn up tomorrow morning. No matter which way this thing goes."

"Wait, hang on," Ben sits up straight again, his voice cracking like a teenager. Rey shakes her head without turning to look at him.

"This is my game," she says. "You said so. I get to bet whatever I desire. Your call, _Rog_."

_Come on,_ she silently adds. _Do it._

Sure enough, Roger's face unfolds into a triumphant sneer.

"Just like I told you, Solo: the ball and chain will up sinking you." He flings down his cards with a flourish. "Full house, jacks on queens."

A shocked silence falls over the room; Pete's hands fly to his mouth, and Don puts down his glass a little too hard. Rey feels Ben freeze beneath her, his fingers falling away; his cock is still hard inside of her, and she can feel his pulse quickening as Roger's smile gets wider. She can't see Ben's face, but she can imagine what he must look like, in this moment: the way the colour must drain from his cheeks, the abrupt slack that takes his jaw, the nakedly boyish fear that must fall across his face like a spectre's shadow. The last look on a man's face when he realizes, with great and terrible clarity, that his hubris and arrogance have cost him absolutely everything.

Rey takes a breath, burning this imagined Ben Solo into her memory for future reference, and then puts down her cards with a steady hand.

"I have the jack and queen of hearts," she murmurs, watching as Roger's face turns an impressive shade of gray. She purses her lips, pointing at the spread on the table. "That makes three queens and two jacks, which…that's _also_ a full house, isn't it?"

Now Rey turns to look over her shoulder, batting her eyelashes at Ben with all the doe-eyed naivete she can muster. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, and she feels him come with a sudden jerk of his hips; Rey arches her eyebrow as she slowly rides him through it, feeling him throb inside of her until he finally goes limp.

"Darling?" she tilts her head inquisitively. "Are you all right?"

Ben's heart is beating so hard she can feel it at every point where she's pressed against him, and he licks his lips as if in slow motion.

"I'm fine," he manages breathily, and Rey bites back a grin as she clenches around his softening cock just one more time for good measure, watching as he forcibly swallows a groan.

"Well, Solo, I'll be damned," Don cuts in with a low whistle, "that's some mighty fine beginner's luck for your better half there."

Rey turns back to the table, taking one of the poker chips in an immaculately manicured hand. "Why?" she asks innocently. "Did I win or something?"

Pete is snickering into his empty martini glass as Roger's shoulders begin to tremble with fury. Rey doesn't wait for the explanation; she pulls off of Ben, slipping back into her heels and squeezing her thighs together as she smooths her dress as if merely fussing with the pleats. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ben hastily tuck himself away.

"Well, gentlemen, I'll leave you to sort out the finances," she purrs, ruffling Pete's hair fondly as she passes him. Rey doesn't look back, walking in small shuffling steps all the way up to the master bathroom, and closes the door behind her, trembling as Ben's come begins to run warm down her legs. Finally alone, Rey lets her knees go rubbery, gripping the edge of the countertop; her breaths come in gasps and she shudders with arousal, grinding her slicked thighs together as every nerve ending roars ablaze. Something in her mind snaps away and she absently watches herself move around the room: she stops up the tub and turns on the water as hot as it will go, dumping in the rest of her French lavender bubble bath and sighing contentedly as the room begins to fill with steam. She's only just started to unzip her dress when she hears the door click open, and turns just in time to see Ben flick the lock on the handle. The steam is thick already; his chest is heaving, but she can't quite make out his face.

"Ben?" For a moment Rey is sure she went too far, but then his mouth crashes into hers, desperate and sloppy and completely adoring. Rey makes a soft mewling sound as she lets him back her up against the counter, her eyes rolling up into her head as he pulls up her dress and sinks two fingers into her, curling them to just the right spot.

"You're incredible," Ben gasps against her mouth, raking her lower lip between his teeth. "You're _incredible_ , Rey, I love you so fucking much—"

He suddenly drops to his knees, burying his face between her legs before she can register what's happening. A shuddering cry escapes her as Ben's tongue finds her clit, moving in perfect rhythm with the wet thrust of his hand; Rey buries her fingers in his hair as she contracts around him, smearing his mouth and chin with evidence of both their arousal. As her breath catches in her throat, Rey sees Ben look up at her, his eyes shining with something very akin to worship.

It's the look in his eyes that pushes her over the edge; Rey's whole body goes rigid as she comes, her muscles seizing so tight she's positive she'll shatter. She's vaguely aware of crushing his head between her thighs, and of Ben's tongue moving eagerly against her, his lips vibrating as he groans like he's just eaten something delicious. The waves of ecstasy crash over her again and again; she's shaking, desperate to catch her breath, her limbs tingling and her vision obscured by black spots—but Ben is there to catch her as she comes down from the rush. He presses kisses against her mouth as he finishes unzipping her dress, pulling it gently over her head and tossing it into the laundry basket behind them. He even undoes her brassiere, his hands deft against her flesh, as he whispers feverish exaltations that she barely hears over the rushing of her heartbeat in her head. When Rey is completely naked, Ben scoops her up and effortlessly carries her to the bath, settling her in amongst the searing hot water and soft clouds of lavender-scented bubbles.

"Stay here, sweetheart," he rasps. "I'm going to kick the boys out, and then I'm coming right back to you."

"Don't forget to wash your face," she replies drowsily. "You're covered in, um…both of us."

Ben grins, looking for all the world like the cat that got the canary. "Not a chance in hell," he winks as he unlocks the door.

Rey loses the next few minutes to her pounding pulse and the steam that's opening her pores, giggling silently to herself as she imagines the scene that must be unfolding downstairs. She only notices Ben's return when the swing of the door creates a ripple through the steam.

"I don't know how you never manage to burn yourself," he murmurs, kicking off his socks and then stooping to gather and drop them carefully in the laundry basket.

"Lots of practice with slow and incremental torture," Rey grins.

She hears him snort. "Do you mean marriage?"

There's a soft splash of water as she shrugs. "Sometimes. Not all the time."

Ben looks an absolute wreck, his chin and mouth still glistening in the dim light, and Rey reaches out her arms.

"Come here," she whispers.

"Yes ma'am," Ben replies crookedly, pulling off his leather belt before climbing into the bathtub otherwise fully clothed. Rey squeals as the water sloshes dangerously close to overflowing.

"What are you doing? Those pants are wool, they'll shrink!"

Ben shrugs as he slides in behind her. "I'll buy new ones," he says, raking his hands through her hair to pull her mouth to his. Rey turns, straddling him in the water as the kiss deepens and all of the tension in her neck melts away.

"Can I keep the car?" she asks when they come up for air.

Ben huffs in a gentle laugh. "I let Roger keep the car," he replies, cupping her cheek in his hand. "Spare him a little dignity; I'm getting his job, after all."

Rey hums. "Can I have an increase in my spending allowance, then? Now that you've been promoted."

"Anything you want," Ben murmurs.

"Good. Do not _ever_ bring that man to my house again."

Ben pulls her close, tilting his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry," he whispers, the words reverberating through his chest. "I took things too far. I won't do it again."

Rey smirks, tweaking his nose playfully. "Someone's finally learned how things work around here, I see," she replies, and he nods enthusiastically. "And you thought you could test me."

"No more tests. No more games." Ben tucks a stray hair behind her ear. "You win, Rey. You win absolutely everything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: brief mention of infertility, public sex, cockwarming


	8. Epilogue: The Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a cloudy Saturday afternoon when a sleek black Lincoln pulls up to the curb. Rey only sees the gleam of the chrome out of the corner of her eye as she gathers up the cutlery from lunch, and disappears into the kitchen as the brakes whine faintly.  
> She’s just pulled the curtain across the kitchen window when she hears the doorbell ring, and a cold grip of fear clutches at her throat, freezing her in place. She remains still as she feels Ben’s footsteps thump down the hall, hears the deadbolt slide like buckshot into the chamber of a gun.  
> There’s a soft murmur of male voices, the gentle swing of the front door on its hinges; by the time Ben appears in the kitchen doorway, Rey is already trembling.  
> “Sweetheart,” he says, his voice far too even, “you have a visitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Thank you so much for your patience with this epilogue. I'm so thrilled to have had the chance to spin out this little tale, and every comment and kudos has been such a gift! <3 I hope you enjoy.

It’s a cloudy Saturday afternoon when a sleek black Lincoln pulls up to the curb. Rey only sees the gleam of the chrome out of the corner of her eye as she gathers up the cutlery from lunch, and disappears into the kitchen as the brakes whine faintly.

She’s just pulled the curtain across the kitchen window when she hears the doorbell ring, and a cold grip of fear clutches at her throat, freezing her in place. She remains still as she feels Ben’s footsteps thump down the hall, hears the deadbolt slide like buckshot into the chamber of a gun.

There’s a soft murmur of male voices, the gentle swing of the front door on its hinges; by the time Ben appears in the kitchen doorway, Rey is already trembling.

“Sweetheart,” he says, his voice far too even, “you have a visitor.”

Rey purposefully doesn’t know anyone in this town, not without Ben knowing them first. She swallows a lump in her throat.

“Would they like a drink?” she asks, falling back on the skeletal frame of obedience that has always bolstered her.

Ben’s face is utterly unreadable. “You should ask him yourself,” he replies.

She isn’t sure who she expects to see when she rounds the corner into the sitting room. She is somehow both shocked and resigned to see a mop of ginger red hair that instantly forces her to suppress a snarl.

Armitage Hux was once handsome, in the most technical sense. Years of toxic entitlement and wanton cruelty have shadowed his features, and the frown lines around his mouth have lightly sketched in the dour old man he’ll become someday. All of that ugliness is burned into Rey’s memory forever; what is new is the way the left side of his face sags and ripples, the skin furiously red and black where it isn’t shiny with scar tissue. His left eye is different, too—fake, she realizes, watching as it swivels just slightly out of sync with his right.

It’s an impressive repair job, Rey is forced to admit. She should know; she’s the one who shot him in the face.

“Kira,” Hux snarls, gripping the arm of the couch like he’s squeezing the life out of it. “How lovely it is to see you again, _sweetheart._ ”

Rey knows Hux better than he knows himself. She’s known the intimate soul of every one of her husbands, and up until recently the information had only ever served to disappoint and bore her.

It’s all just so predictable. She knows, by the furrow of Hux’s brow, that he wants her to be shocked to see him; his trembling fist is supposed to make her own throat constrict with fear by proxy. Never has a monster seemed so mechanical.

“You didn’t die,” she says flatly, just to make polite conversation.

“How observant!” Hux snaps, sending flecks of spittle everywhere as he lurches to his feet and begins to pace back and forth, his gait uneven but determined. Rey watches him plod in total silence, until finally he stops and folds his arms across his chest. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask how I found you?”

She lets herself smirk, just a little, just enough to piss him off. _If you wait long enough, Hux will tell you absolutely everything you want to know, and even more that you don’t._

“How did you find me?” she says in a chirp.

“Roger called me,” Hux shoots back, his eyes glittering. “I can’t believe you didn’t recognize him. He talked your ear off the whole Christmas party, you wouldn’t even _look_ my way. And it was our _anniversary_.” His face breaks, and for a moment he looks like the spoilt child he must have been once upon a time.

Rey exhales in a silent huff, opening her mouth, but she never gets a chance to make a sound.

“I woke up and the house was _burning down_! They couldn’t find a trace of you! I thought you were dead!” Hux is almost howling his fury, his voice already breaking with it. “You _ruined_ me. Father won’t even look at me now. He’s transferring my shares to—”

Rey stops listening, disappearing into the depths of her mind where she compiles a quick list of anything she could use as a weapon. There’s a stray cocktail stick on the table beside her—too flimsy to cause much damage. She could whip the lamp at his head, but considering the fact that a bullet couldn’t completely shatter Hux’s thick skull, there’s no guarantee that porcelain will do any better. The fireplace poker is within reach, but it’ll be so messy; the carpet’s still pristine, and it’s going to be almost impossible to colour-match the original dye after bleaching out all the blood.

Ben doesn’t have a gun. _Why did I have to marry a pacifist?_ She rolls her eyes.

Hux stops dead, sputtering. “Did you just _roll your eyes_ at me?! You absolute _bitch_ —”

“Oh, shut _up_ ,” Rey snaps, already lunging forward, she’ll wring his neck with her bare hands if she has to—

“Sweetheart!” Ben appears as if by magic, two rocks glasses in hand, frowning as Rey instantly drops her outstretched arms. “What’s this? You haven’t even offered our guest anything to drink.”

Hux immediately relaxes, his shoulders slumping down as he gratefully accepts the offered glass. “Benjamin, you’re far too good for this cunt,” he sneers behind the rim before taking a long drink. “Damn if that isn’t good whiskey.”

“It was a wedding gift,” Ben replies, taking a gentle sip of his own drink and sending Rey a look she can’t quite decipher. “From my grandfather.”

Hux snorts with laughter. “I cannot believe that my wife wound up in the arms of Anakin Skywalker’s family. My god, maybe I should let you keep her and just live off the alimony.” He takes another sip, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. “Listen, Solo, I heard you took Roger’s life savings in a poker game, and I wanted to say—”

And then his eyes roll back in his head, and he crumples violently to the ground, hitting his head sharply on the corner of the glass coffee table with a horrible wet sound.

“What…” Rey’s mouth is dry, and she watches blankly as Ben crosses the room, kneeling to press two fingers to the pulse point on Hux’s neck. The room is silent but for the steady _tick_ of the grandfather clock in the hallway, and then Ben nods curtly and climbs to his feet.

"What did you do?" she finally finds the words, her voice strangled and unfamiliar.

"He was being rude," Ben scrubs a hand across his mouth sheepishly as his cheeks darken. "You have that little crystal vial—the one you hid behind the sweet vermouth the day we moved in—and, well. I took an educated guess."

Rey looks down, her face burning with a combination of pleasure and shame. _Of course he knew about that._ He's known about everything. It's possible he knew right from the very start.

"I bought it after…" she gestures to Hux's already-greying corpse. "I really tried with him, you know. I tried with all of them." Her eyes flick up to meet his. "With you, I…after Hux, I swore I'd never be caught off guard again. Figures it was the one time I didn't need it."

“I love you _,_ Mrs. Solo,” Ben grins, cupping her face in his hands. “Til death do us part.”

Rey stands on tiptoe to kiss him. “I love _you_ , Mr. Solo,” she replies. “For the rest of our lives.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are extremely appreciated! Come say hi on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/littlestarlost) as well!


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